And now--not four years!--and here sat Dicky Fontenoy, haranguing on the
dull clauses of a technical act, throat hoarse with the speaking of the
last three weeks, eyes cavernous with anxiety and overwork, the creator
and leader of a political party which did not exist when Tressady left
England, and now bade fair to hold the balance of power in English
government! The surprises of fate and character! Tressady pondered them a
little in a sleepy way; but the fatigue of many days asserted itself.
Even his companion was soon obliged to give him up as a listener. Lord
Fontenoy ceased to talk; yet every now and then, as some jolt of the
carriage made George open his eyes, he saw the broad-shouldered figure
beside him, sitting in the same attitude, erect and tireless, the same
half-peevish pugnacity giving expression to mouth and eye.

* * * * *

"Come, wake up, Tressady! Here we are!"

There was a vindictive eagerness in Fontenoy's voice. Ease was no longer
welcome to him, whether in himself or as a spectacle in other men.
George, startled from a momentary profundity of sleep, staggered to his
feet, and clutched at various bags and rugs.

The carriage was standing under the pillared porch of Malford House, and
the great house-doors, thrown back upon an inner flight of marble steps,
gave passage to a blaze of light. George, descending, had just shaken
himself awake, and handed the things he held to a footman, when there was
a sudden uproar from within. A crowd of figures--men and women, the men
cheering, the women clapping and laughing--ran down the inner steps
towards him. He was surrounded, embraced, slapped on the back, and
finally carried triumphantly into the hall.