The great night came and passed with fewer thrills than any one had
imagined possible. Horlock himself undertook the defence of his once
more bitterly assailed Government and from the first it was obvious what
the end must be. He spoke with the resigned cynicism of one who knows
that words are fruitless, that the die is already cast and that his
little froth of words, valedictory in their tone from the first, was
only a tribute to exacting convention. Tallente had never been more
restrained, although his merciless logic reduced the issues upon which
the vote was to be taken to the plainest and clearest elements. He
remained studiously unemotional and nothing which he said indicated in
any way his personal interest in the sweeping away of the Horlock
regime. He was the impersonal but scathing critic, paving the way for
his chief. It was Dartrey himself who overshadowed every one that
night. He spoke so seldom in the House that many of the members had
forgotten that he was an orator of rare quality. That night he lifted
the debate from the level of ordinary politics to the idyllic realms
where alone the lasting good of the world is fashioned. He pointed out
what government might and should be, taking almost a Roman view of the
care of the citizen, his early and late education, his shouldering of
the responsibilities which belong to one of a great community. From the
individual he passed to the nation, sketching in a few nervous but
brilliant phrases the exact possibilities of socialistic legislation;
and he wound up with a parodied epigram: Government, he declared, was
philosophy teaching by failures. In the end, Miller led fourteen of his
once numerous followers into the Government lobby to find himself by
forty votes upon the losing side.
Horlock found Tallente once more slipping quietly away from the House
and bundled him into his car. They drove off rapidly. "So it's
Buckinghamshire for me," the former observed, not without jubilation.
"After all, it has been rather a tame finale. We were beaten before we
opened our mouths."
"Even your new adherent," Tallente said, smiling, "could not save you."
Horlock made a grimace.
"You can have Miller and his faithful fourteen," he declared. "We don't
want him. The man was a Little Englander, he has become a Little
Labourite. Heaven knows where he'll end! Are you going to be Prime
Minister, Tallente?"
"I don't know," was the quiet reply. "Just for the moment I am weary of
it all. Day after day, fighting and scheming, speaking and writing,
just to get you fellows out. And now we've got you out, well, I don't
know that we are going to do any better. We've got the principles,
we've got some of the men, but is the country ready for our programme!"
"If you ask me, I think the country's ready for anything in the way of a
change," Horlock replied. "I am sure I am. I have been Prime Minister
before, but I've never in my life had such an army of incompetents at
the back of me. Take my tip, Tallente. Don't you have a Chancellor of
the Exchequer who refuses to take a bit off the income tax every year."
"We shall abolish the income tax before long," Tallente declared.
"I shall invest my money in America," Horlock observed, "my savings,
that is. Where shall I put you down?"
"In Chelsea, if you would," Tallente begged. "We are only just turning
off the Embankment. I want to see Mrs. Dartrey."
Horlock gave an order through the tube.
"I am going down to Belgrave Square," he said, "then I am going back to
Downing Street for to-night. To-morrow a dutiful journey to Buckingham
Palace, Saturday a long week-end. I shall take out a season ticket to
Buckinghamshire now. You're not going to nationalise the railways--or
are you, Tallente; what about season tickets then?"
"Nationalisation is badly defined," Tallente replied. "The Government
will certainly aim at regulating the profits of all public companies and
applying a portion of them to the reduction of taxation."
"Well, good luck to you!" Horlock said heartily, as the car pulled up
outside Dartrey's little house. "Here's just a word of advice from an
old campaigner. You're going to tap the people's pockets, that's what
you are going to do, Tallente, and I tell you this, and you'll find it's
the truth--principles or no principles, your own party or any one
else's--the moment you touch the pockets of any class of the community,
from the aristocrat to the stone-breaker, they'll be up against you like
a hurricane. Every one in the world hugs their principles, but there
isn't any one who'd hold on to them if they found it was costing them
money.--So long, and the best of luck to you, Tallente. We may meet in
high circles before long."
Horlock drove away, a discomfited man, jubilant in his thoughts of
freedom. Tallente was met by Nora in the little hall--Nora, who had
kept away from the house at Stephen's earnest request.
"Stephen has done it," Tallente announced triumphantly. "He made the
only speech worth listening to. Horlock crumbled to pieces. Miller
only got fourteen of the ragtail end of his lot to vote with him. We
won by forty votes. Horlock brought me here. He is to have a formal
meeting of the party. He'll offer his resignation on Thursday."
"It's wonderful!" Nora exclaimed.
"Stephen will be sent for," Tallente went on. "That, of course, is a
foregone conclusion. Nora, I wish you'd make him see that it's his duty
to form a Government. There isn't any reason why he should pass it on
to me. I can lead in the Commons if he wants me to, so far as the
debates are concerned. We are altering the procedure, as I dare say you
know. Half the government of the country will be done by committees."
"It's no use," Nora replied. "Stephen simply wouldn't do it. You must
remember what you yourself said--procedure will be altered. So much of
the government of the country will be done outside the House. Stephen
has everything mapped out. You are going to be Prime Minister."
Tallente left early and walked homeward by the least frequented ways. A
soft rain was falling, but the night was warm and a misty moon made
fitful appearances. The rain fell like little drops of silver around
the lampposts. There was scarcely a breath of wind and in Curzon Street
the air was almost faint with the odour of spring bulbs from the window
boxes. Tallente yielded to an uncontrollable impulse. He walked rather
abruptly up Clarges Street, past his rooms, and paid a curious little
visit, almost a pilgrimage, to the closed house in Charles Street. It
seemed to him that those drawn blinds, the dead-looking windows, the
smokeless chimneys typified in melancholy fashion the empty chambers in
his own heart. Weeks had passed now and no word had come from Jane. He
pictured her still smarting under the sting of his brutal words. Some
of his phrases came back to his mind and he shivered with remorse. If
only--He started. It seemed for a moment as though history were about
to repeat itself. A great limousine had stolen up to the kerbstone and
a woman in evening dress was leaning out.
"Mr. Tallente," she called out, "do come and speak to me, please."
Tallente approached at once. In the dim light his heart gave a little
throb. He peered forward. The woman laughed musically. "I do believe
that you have forgotten me," she said, "I am Alice Mountgarron--Jane's
sister. I saw you there and I couldn't help stopping for a moment. Can
I drop you anywhere?"
"Thank you so much," he answered. "My rooms are quite close by here in
Clarges Street."
"Get in, please, and I will take you there," she ordered. "Tell the man
the number. I want just one word with you."
The car started off. Lady Alice looked at her companion and shook her
head.
"Mr. Tallente," she said, "I am very much a woman of the world and Jane
is a very much stronger person than I am, in some things, and a great
baby in others. You and she were such friends and I have an idea that
there was a misunderstanding."
"There was," he groaned. "It was my fault."
"Never mind whose fault it was," she went on. "You two were made for
each other. You have so much in common. Don't drift apart altogether,
just because one has expected too much, or the other been content to
give too little. Jane has a great soul and a great heart. She wants to
give but she doesn't quite know how. And perhaps there isn't any way.
But two people whose lives seem to radiate towards each other, as yours
and hers, shouldn't remain wholly apart. Take a day or two's holiday
soon, even from this great work of yours, and go down to Devonshire. It
would be very dangerous advice," she went on, smiling, "to a different
sort of man, but I have a fancy that to you it may mean something, and I
happen to know--that Jane is miserable."
The car stopped. Tallente held Lady Alice's hand as he had seldom held
the hand of a woman in his life. A curious incapacity for speech
checked the words even upon his lips.
"Thank you," he faltered.