He lit a cigarette and continued, loftily taking no notice of my rebuke.

"There's bound to be a vacancy. Why shouldn't you fill it? They seem to
want you. You're miles away over the heads of the average solemn duffers
who get office."

I bowed acknowledgment of his tribute.

"Well, you will buck up and try for it, won't you? I'm awfully proud
of you already, but I should go off my head with joy if you were in the
Ministry."

I met his honest young eyes as well as I could. How was I going to
convey to his candid intelligence the fact of my speedy withdrawal from
political life without shattering his illusions? Besides, his devotion
touched me, and his generous aspirations were so futile. Office! It was
in my grasp. Raggles, with his finger always on the pulse of the party
machine, was the last man in the world to talk nonsense. I only had to
"buck up." Yet by the time Sanderson sends in his resignation to the
King of England, I shall have sent in mine to the King of Hosts. I moved
slightly in my chair, and a twinge of the little pain inside brought a
gasp to my throat. But I felt grateful to it. It was saving me from an
unconscionable deal of worry. Fancy going to a confounded office every
morning like a clerk in the City! I was happier at peace. I rose and
warmed myself by the fire. Dale regarded me uncomprehendingly.

"You look as if the prospect bored you to tears. I thought you would be
delighted."