XIX.

Out of the shilling he purchased next day a ticket on the metropolitan railway and rang at the bell of Cynthia’s door; in Half-Moon-street. When the door yielded under his vehement onslaught he strode like a fighting-cock past the door porter, for he was burning with love. But the door porter, an elderly man, called him back and said:

“Kindly wipe your feet, sir, on that mat outside: this is an expensive carpet and belongs to the first floor people.”

“But isn’t Miss Wellington on the first floor?”

“No, sir, she lives in the attic.”

He crawled upstairs, up innumerable flights of stairs, and the higher he climbed the lower his spirits descended. Strange, he reflected, that a girl whose trouble Ottercove had said was too much money should live in an attic. But there it was! Millionaires had fancies and did for pleasure what other folks were paid to do. Wasn’t the late Emperor of All the Russia’s favourite recreation chopping wood in the palace yard?

A maid responded to his summons and he stepped into a neatly-appointed apartment. He had scarcely had time to smile at Cynthia, when the maid announced:

“Mr. Mortimer Pilling.”

And the delicate room held the strong, wiry man with the crisp, curly black hair. “’Pon my word! Dickin, of all people! Had no idea you knew him, Cynthia. You never let on.”

“How could I? I only know him since last night.”

“Oh, really?” Pilling looked enquiringly at Frank.

“It seems as if I had known you all my life and even earlier in a pre-terrestrial existence. But, in point of fact, we only met last night. Where was it? Ah, yes, at Ottercove’s, wasn’t it?” said Frank.

“A man,” said Pilling, “I always wished to meet. A most delightful man, by all accounts, and one who could be useful to me in a thousand ways and particularly in a little enterprise I have in mind.”

“You must meet him, Mortimer,” said Cynthia, while the bell rang at the front door.

There was a sigh of exhaustion in the hall, and when Cynthia came back she was followed by a new guest.

“Mr. Mortimer Pilling. Lord Ottercove.”

Lord Ottercove gave Pilling one searching, long look with his penetrating grey eye and shook hands. Mortimer Pilling looked as though his day had arrived. But Lord Ottercove turned to Frank: “Well, how did you enjoy yourself last night?”

“By all accounts,” said Pilling, following Lord Ottercove round the room, “he enjoyed himself very much. Ha! ha! ha!”

“It was dull,” said Ottercove to Frank and not looking at Pilling.

“You need Mrs. Kerr,” said Pilling, looking from Frank to Ottercove, “to brighten up a party. You remember, Dickin, our tea-party together last month?”

“Yes,” said Frank, “I remember.”

Lord Ottercove sat down heavily in a big chair and never once looked up at Pilling. Never did Frank Dickin see him so impressive. The Grand Duke of Fleet Street had surreptitiously climbed up eight flights of steps (he who said he suffered from his heart) and now sat still in a great armchair and wouldn’t look at Pilling. Never, Frank reflected, is a great man more a great man than in a low-ceilinged attic, at the side of a Pilling. For, but for the Pillings, no one might know that Lord Ottercove was a great man.

“How are de Jones and Eva?” Frank enquired.

“Very well,” said Ottercove.

“I am very fond of Eva,” put in Pilling.

“Nearly done with Paris and going on to Rome. I am off myself to join them at Nice at the end of the month. Will you come with me?”

“Well,” said Frank, looking anxiously at Cynthia, who returned a look which he interpreted as a sign not to reveal to Ottercove the secret of their forthcoming wedding.

“Have you seen the papers?” Lord Ottercove asked, confining his enquiry to Frank and Cynthia, while Pilling quickly said: “About the General Election?”

“How old Joe’s already shouting,” Ottercove continued, oblivious of Pilling’s question, “about the bursting granaries that would be ours if we back the Liberals to put an end to international bickerings and jealousies and push on with the Lord de Jones scheme. And his Hackney speech! Lord Ottercove assumed the pose of a public speaker. ‘And we shall ask, by what right, whether human or divine, some men’s tummies digest more bread and butter in one hour of their sleep than you, O Toiling Masses, can earn by the sweat of your brow in a week?’

“‘’Ear, ‘ear! Good old Joe!’

“But he silences them with a gesture; his hand again shoots out: ‘_And we shall ask_’--Grand fellow!”

“A great orator,” exclaimed Pilling.

Lord Ottercove’s eyes dimmed. “Joe,” he said, “is a giant.”

“He is,” said Pilling, looking from Lord Ottercove to Frank.

Lord Ottercove did not look at him. “And the news that de Jones has been received with acclamation by the Paris mob. Good sign that. Cheaper bread for the common people! And old Joe knows how to give it the right ring. Grand fellow! We will beat the Conservatives at the poll this time, you’ll see. It’ll do them good to be beaten.”

“Why?”

“Conservatism is a subversive habit to conserve what was won by the Liberals of the past. If Conservatism is to live to-morrow, let Liberals have their way to-day.” He rose and, turning to Frank, said:

“Come and see me to-morrow at five.”

Frank looked significantly at Cynthia. “Can’t at five:--six.”

Pilling left soon after Lord Ottercove.

Frank and Cynthia left a considerable time after Pilling.