The Yellow Crayon Part 35

Brott sighed wearily, but already there was a change in him. His face was hardening--the lines in his face deepened. Grahame continued hastily--eagerly.

"Public men," he said, "are always at the mercy of the halfpenny press, but you know, Brott, your appearance so often in Society lately has set men's tongues wagging. There is no harm done, but it is time to stop them. You are right to want to understand these people. You must go down amongst them. It has been slumming in Mayfair for you, I know. But have done with it now. It is these people we are going to fight. Let it be open war. Let them hear your programme at Glasgow. We don't want another French Revolution, but it is going to be war against the drones, fierce, merciless war! You must break with them, Brott, once and for ever. And the time is now."

Brott held out his hand across the table. No one but this one man could have read the struggle in his face.

"You are right, Grahame. I thank you. I thank you as much for what you have left unsaid as for what you have said. I was a fool to think of compromising. Letheringham is a nerveless leader. We should have gone pottering on for another seven years. Thank G.o.d that you came when you did. See here!"

He tossed him over a letter. Grahame's cheek paled as he read.

"Already!" he murmured.

Brott nodded.

"Read it!"

Grahame devoured every word. His eyes lit up with excitement.

"My prophecy exactly," he exclaimed, laying it down. "It is as I said.

He cannot form the ministry without you. His letter is abject. He gives himself away. It is an entreaty. And your answer?"

"Has not yet gone," Brott said. "You shall write it yourself if you like. I am thankful that you came when you did."

"You were hesitating?" Grahame exclaimed.

"I was."

Grahame looked at him in wonder, and Brott faced him st.u.r.dily.

"It seems like treason to you, Grahame!" he said. "So it does to me now. I want nothing in the future to come between us," he continued more slowly, "and I should like if I can to expunge the memory of this interview. And so I am going to tell you the truth." Grahame held out his hand.

"Don't!" he said. "I can forget without."

Brott shook his head.

"No," he said. "You had better understand everything. The halfpenny press told the truth. Yet only half the truth. I have been to all these places, wasted my time, wasted their time, from a purely selfish reason--to be near the only woman I have ever cared for, the woman, Grahame!"

"I knew it," Grahame murmured. "I fought against the belief, I thought that I had stifled it. But I knew it all the time."

"If I have seemed lukewarm sometimes of late," Brott said, "there is the cause. She is an aristocrat, and my politics are hateful to her. She has told me so seriously, playfully, angrily. She has let me feel it in a hundred ways. She has drawn me into discussions and shown the utmost horror of my views. I have cared for her all my life, and she knows it. And I think, Grahame, that lately she has been trying constantly, persistently, to tone down my opinions. She has let me understand that they are a bar between us. And it is a horrible confession, Grahame, but I believe that I was wavering. This invitation from Letheringham seemed such a wonderful opportunity for compromise."

"This must never go out of the room," Grahame said hoa.r.s.ely. "It would ruin your popularity. They would never trust you again."

"I shall tell no one else," Brott said.

"And it is over?" Grahame demanded eagerly.

"It is over."

The Duke of Dorset, who entertained for his party, gave a great dinner that night at Dorset House, and towards its close the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer, who was almost the only non-political guest, moved up to his host in response to an eager summons. The Duke was perturbed.

"You have heard the news, Saxe Leinitzer?"

"I did not know of any news," the Prince answered. "What is it?"

"Brott has refused to join with Letheringham in forming a ministry. It is rumoured even that a coalition was proposed, and that Brott would have nothing to do with it."

The Prince looked into his winegla.s.s.

"Ah!" he said.

"This is disturbing news," the Duke continued. "You do not seem to appreciate its significance."

The Prince looked up again.

"Perhaps not," he said. "You shall explain to me."

"Brott refuses to compromise," the Duke said. "He stands for a ministry of his own selection. Heaven only knows what mischief this may mean.

His doctrines are thoroughly revolutionary. He is an iconoclast with a genius for destruction. But he has the ear of the people. He is to-day their Rienzi."

The Prince nodded.

"And Lucille?" he remarked. "What does she say?"

"I have not spoken to her," the Duke answered. "The news has only just come."

"We will speak to her," the Prince said, "together."

Afterwards in the library there was a sort of informal meeting, and their opportunity came.

"So you have failed, Countess," her host said, knitting his grey brows at her.

She smilingly acknowledged defeat.

"But I can a.s.sure you," she said, "that I was very near success. Only on Monday he had virtually made up his mind to abandon the extreme party and cast in his lot with Letheringham. What has happened to change him I do not know."

The Prince curled his fair moustache.

"It is a pity," he said, "that he changed his mind. For one thing is very certain. The Duke and I are agreed upon it. A Brott ministry must never be formed."

She looked up quickly.

"What do you mean?"

The Prince answered her without hesitation.

"If one course fails," he said, "another must be adopted. I regret having to make use of means which are somewhat clumsy and obvious. But our p.r.o.nouncement on this one point is final. Brott must not be allowed to form a ministry."