"Say 'win it for us,' dear."
She shook her head. "I'm not a Liberal--yet," she said,
laughing.
"It's only a question of time."
"I'll never be converted to Grit politics."
"No, but you'll be converted to me," he told her, and
drew her nearer. "I'm going now, Dora. I dare say I
shouldn't have come. Every minute counts today. Good-bye."
She could not withhold her face from his asking lips,
and he had bent to take his privilege when a step in the
hall threatened and divided them.
"It's only Mr Hesketh going upstairs," said Dora, with
relief. "I thought it was Father. Oh, Lorne--fly!"
"Hesketh!" Young Murchison's face clouded. "Is he working
for Winter, too?"
"Lorne! What a thing to ask when you know he believes in
your ideas. But he's a Conservative at home, you see, so
he says he's in an awkward position, and he has been
taking perfectly neutral ground lately. He hasn't a vote,
anyway."
"No," said Lorne. "He's of no consequence."
The familiar easy step in the house of his beloved, the
house he was being entreated to leave with all speed,
struck upon his heart and his nerves. She, with her dull
surface to the more delicate vibrations of things, failed
to perceive this, or perhaps she would have thought it
worth while to find some word to bring back his peace.
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