"Leslie," he said, "you speak like a prophet, but believe me, my mind is
made up. I have taken root here. Such work as I can do from my study is,
as it always has been, at your service. But I myself have finished with
actual political life. Don't press me too hard. I must seem churlish and
ungrateful, but if I listened to you for hours the result would be the
same. I have finished with actual political life."

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders despairingly. Such a man was hard to
deal with.

"Mannering," he protested, "you must not, you really must not, send me
away like this. You speak of your written work. Don't think that I
underestimate it because I have not alluded to it before. I myself
honestly believe that it was those wonderful articles of yours in the
_Nineteenth Century_ which brought back to a reasonable frame of mind
thousands who were half led away by the glamour of this new campaign. You
kindled the torch, my friend, and you must bear it to victory. You bring
me to my last resource. If you will not serve under Rochester, come
back--and Rochester will serve under you when the time comes."

Mannering shook his head slowly.

"I wish I could convince you," he said, "once and for all, that my
refusal springs from no such reasons as you seem to imagine. I would
sooner sit here, with a volume of Pater or Meredith, and this west wind
blowing in my face, than I would hear myself acclaimed Prime Minister of
England. Let us abandon this discussion once and for all, Borrowdean. We
have arrived at a cul-de-sac, and I have spoken my last word."