"But I do not know Mr. Alwyn."
"I thought you did; you recommended him highly."
"I knew of him slightly in the South and I have watched his career here."
"It would be too bad to have that career spoiled now."
"But is it necessary? Suppose he should defend the Education Bill."
"And criticise the party?" asked Miss Wynn. "It would take strong influence to pull him through."
"And if that strong influence were found?" said Mrs. Vanderpool thoughtfully.
"It would surely involve some other important concession to the South."
Mrs. Vanderpool looked up, and an interjection hovered on her lips. Was it possible that the price of Alwyn's manhood would be her husband's appointment to Paris? And if it were?
"I'll do what I can," she said graciously; "but I am afraid that will not be much."
Miss Wynn hesitated. She had not succeeded even in guessing the source of Mrs. Vanderpool's interest in Alwyn, and without that her appeal was but blind groping. She stopped on her way to the door to admire a bronze statuette and find time to think.
"You are interested in bronzes?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool.
"Oh, no; I'm far too poor. But I've dabbled a bit in sculpture."
"Indeed?" Mrs. Vanderpool revealed a mild interest, and Miss Wynn was compelled to depart with little enlightenment.
On the way up town she concluded that there was but one chance of success: she must write Alwyn's speech. With characteristic decision she began her plans at once.
"What will you say in your speech?" she asked him that night as he rose to go.
He looked at her and she wavered slightly under his black eyes. The fight was becoming a little too desperate even for her steady nerves.
"You would not like me to act dishonestly, would you?" he asked.
"No," she involuntarily replied, regretting the word the moment she had uttered it. He gave her one of his rare sweet smiles, and, rising, before she realized his intent, he had kissed her hands and was gone.
She asked herself why she had been so foolish; and yet, somehow, sitting there alone in the firelight, she felt glad for once that she had risen above intrigue. Then she sighed and smiled, and began to plot anew. Teerswell dropped in later and brought his friend, Stillings. They found their hostess gay and entertaining.
Miss Wynn gathered books about her, and in the days of April and May she and Alwyn read up on education. He marvelled at the subtlety of her mind, and she at the relentlessness of his. They were very near each other during these days, and yet there was ever something between them: a vision to him of dark and pleading eyes that he constantly saw beside her cool, keen glance. And he to her was always two men: one man above men, whom she could respect but would not marry, and one man like all men, whom she would marry but could not respect. His devotion to an ideal which she thought so utterly unpractical, aroused keen curiosity and admiration. She was sure he would fail in the end, and she wanted him to fail; and somehow, somewhere back beyond herself, her better self longed to find herself defeated; to see this mind stand firm on principle, under circumstances where she believed men never stood. Deep within her she discovered at times a passionate longing to believe in somebody; yet she found herself bending every energy to pull this man down to the level of time-servers, and even as she failed, feeling something like contempt for his stubbornness.