you had no leisure for morning calls, this is not the first Wednesday of the session."

"I really couldn't manage to come here before," replied the Fremier, with a strange look of earnestness. "Heaven knows how gladly I should have jumped at the chance if it had been offered to me. I assure you I took the very first opportunity." Lady Gwendolen's eyes sparkled with delight and a tender expression came over her face. That there should be a breach between them on account of his political conduct had plainly never occurred to him. It was only her own feverish imagination that had conjured up the spectre. The busy statesman had always been longing to see her.

"You are looking better now than then," she said, surveying him affectionately. "You have lost that haggard, worn air, which made your friends fear for your health. I did not expect to find you looking so well, especially after your recent illness.” "My recent indisposition," corrected the Premier. "The indisposition in question prevented me from going to church, but I do not believe it affected me much otherwise. It certainly wasn't serious. Still late hours and talking politics at the CoCommons, tell upon the most robust constitution sooner or later. But, I believe "-with a mocking smile, the meaning of which Lady Gwendolen could not fathom-" I believe I am myself again. How hot it is here!" he added, with an evident desire to change the subject.

"Let us go into the conservatory then."

at the

Without another word he offered her his arm; and as they disappeared in the conservatory, Lord Bardolph and the Duchess came into the room in search of the Premier. Lord Bardolph, with an ugly frown on his face, was about to follow them, when the Duchess touched him lightly on the arm.

"For the first time in my life, I regret being a woman. I wish I were a man," she said.

"Why?" said Lord Bardolph, forgetting his annoyance for the moment in his astonishment at this speech from the Duchess.

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Because I should like to plunge my hands in my trousers' pockets, and indulge in a long, low whistle."

CHAPTER VIII.

BACCHUS AND VENUS.

"THIS is delightful," said Lady Gwendolen, as she entered the conservatory. What a contrast! "" Lady Gwendolen was right. The contrast was great. The gorgeous salons they had quitted were oppressively hot and dazzlingly light. The air was vibrating with whirling passions, conflicting ambitions, repressed emotions. It pulsated with life, the keen, eager, restless, almost feverish life of London Society. Here in the conservatory all was repose. The atmosphere was still-by contrast almost painfully so-and redolent of the odours of many blossoms, that brought with their fragrance a delicious sense of peacefulness and rest. The pale blue light of the moon fell upon huge spreading ferns and rare plants, and cast their shadows in weird forms upon the chequered floor. It threw a ghostly radiance upon the marble figures, whose cool, glossy white contrasted so well with the green foliage. And then, as a cloud flitted across the moon's face, all would be darkness, with vague, shadowy figures that the imagination involuntarily clothed with the life of pixies and gnomes. The plashing of a fountain fell slumberously on the ear with an indescribably soothing effect. The busy hum of life from without barely stirred the sleeping air. The keynote of the harmony was repose. It was a place in which to commune with one's own heart and be still.

Lady Gwendolen seated herself, and looked up at the Premier, who stood leaning against a pillar. It may have been the moonlight, or it may have been fancy, but her face had lost its vivacity, her eyes had lost their sparkle. They were fixed upon the Premier's face with a look of intense interest-the look that a woman only bestows upon the man who is her ideal-but with something of sadness in it, too, as though he had not yet reached the height on which she would fain have placed him. She felt that his abilities were worthy of the great post he held, that his lofty morality made him the very Bayard of statesmen; but his vacillation, the result of his earnest endeavours never to judge hastily, destroyed all the power for good he might have been expected to exert, and reduced him to the level of a party-leader, who followed more often than led. But that night, she, in common with every one else, had noticed the change for the better in him; and now that they were together, she could not altogether repress her anxiety lest it had been but a passing phase of his many-sided character.

As he stood there, it appeared probable enough that this was indeed the case. All his confidence was gone. He seemed strangely troubled, and ill at ease. But then a tête-à-tête by moonlight, in a dimly-lighted conservatory, with one of the most beautiful women in England is, however pleasurable, apt to be burdened

with momentous consequences. The more exquisite the enjoyment, moreover, the nearer to that melancholy which is the undercurrent of all pleasurable emotion; so that the Premier's agitation was easily accounted for.

"They tell me," said Lady Gwendolen, at length breaking the silence, which was almost oppressive, "that you are still determined to resist the demand for Woman Suffrage." She said this halfreproachfully, as though she expected to have heard his determination from himself, and not from the impersonal "they," responsible for so many rumours. "I am glad, and sorry, if that be possible, at the same time."

"That is strange. Why?"

"Can you ask? I am sorry because your determination delays-only delays, mind-the final success of the cause I have so much at heart."

"And glad?

He was evidently determined to force the confession from her beautiful lips. Well, he was welcome to what pleasure he could extract from the sweet, shy response.

"Glad, because I, I-am your friend; and I am proud to see you defy those who would force you to abdicate your position as leader, or hold it on sufferance. Such a situation would be unworthy of you. That, sir," she concluded with mock stateliness, tossing her head with a charming affectation of wounded dignity, "is why; and I am glad to see that you have got the better of your vacillation, and at last are a changed man.”

"You are right, I am a changed man," said the Premier, suddenly brightening up and straightening himself. "And if Lord Bardolph thinks that I am going to dance while he pulls the strings, Lord Bardolph will come a pretty considerable cropper."

Lady Gwendolen looked somewhat astonished at this fresh, free, vigorous, and unconventional use of the vernacular. Truth to tell, the Premier's speech was ordinarily deeply tinged with philosophical terms, and apt to be vague and hazy. This departure in the direction of plain, if not altogether classical English, was rather to be welcomed than condemned; and so, after just a momentary hesitation Lady Gwendolen decided.

The Premier waved his hand in the direction of a statue of Bacchus, the laugh on whose carven image might have disconcerted him and disturbed the even flow of his oratory. Luckily, it was in a dark corner, and so he proceeded, regardless of the laughing god.

I intend having my own way in the Cabinet for the future. I have to bear all the responsibility, and I don't intend being responsible for the policy of other people any longer." He was confident enough now, and the ring of earnestness and conscious power in his tone showed that he meant what he said, and was capable of action in accordance with his words.

"The great thing," he continued, again waving his hand towards the dark corner, where a stray beam of moonlight for a second

made the Bacchus visible, "is to make up your mind, and let the rest of the Cabinet see that you have done so. There will not be much opposition then. A Minister may threaten to resign; but if you take him at his word, he'll be as much disappointed as the lady whose lover foolishly forgets that her 'no' is only an indirect way of saying 'yes.'

By the light of the moon, a blush might have been seen to flicker over Lady Gwendolen's cheek as he uttered these words, and she looked keenly at him, as though half suspecting some hidden application. But he continued calmly in the self-possessed, unhesitating style so eminently uncharacteristic of the man.

In politics, as in most other affairs, he who hesitates is lost. My motto is, 'Do the right thing, if you can;' but it will be better for the country to do the wrong one than to flounder about doing nothing in futile search after what is right."

"How your views have changed! When last we talked together" and an under-current of regret seemed mingled with the musical flow of the words--"you thought and spoke so differently. Then it was, 'Do what is right, come what may.""

"Well, don't I say so still? If it is better for the country that I should do the wrong thing rather than nothing at all, don't you see that the wrong thing becomes the right? It is not the contrast of the right thing with the wrong thing that I am now speaking of, but simply the alternative of anything or nothing. If I did not add this rider to my motto at our last conversation, it was because I had then had no real experience of practical life. Since I have taken on my shoulders the duties and responsibilities of the Premiership, I have discovered that Life spells Action, and not Thought; that there is no standing still in it; and so I am not likely to underrate the value of determination in future," philosophised the Premier, his words ringing out clearly, almost sharply, in the stillness of the conservatory. But for my want of determination, a whippersnapper like Lord Bardolph would not have talked of making and unmaking Cabinets. I beg your pardon," he added with a sudden change of tone, “I forgot that you and Lord Bardolph

With a sudden movement, Lady Gwendolen rose to her feet, her eyes blazing with anger, rather at the apology indeed than at the disparaging manner in which Lord Bardolph had been spoken of, though in both the Premier had shown himself strangely deficient in his usual gracious tact.

"You mistake. Lord Bardolph is nothing to me." Then, as if feeling she had said too much, she sat down and covered her face with her hands.

The Premier was deeply moved. The sight of this beautiful woman, physically and intellectually the highest development of her sex, wounded almost to tears, and by him, stirred tender chords within his breast. He bent over her, and whispered gently, "Dear Lady Gwendolen, forgive me."

"I have nothing to forgive,” she answered; for, woman-like, she forgot the sting to her pride in her joy at having him address her

thus tenderly. Then, too, must there not have been a little outburst of jealousy in his words? What but jealousy could have made him speak his inmost thoughts so openly of one who was a colleague? And she was more pleased at the jealousy, than hurt at what he had implied. The scent of the rose was well worth the prick of the thorn.

Let us forget Lord Bardolph," she said, smiling at him, as, his face still full of contrition, he gazed upon her. "I like to hear you talk of yourself. I love to hear you speak so boldly of what you will do. I am proud to think that I may have helped to waken you to a truer consciousness of your own powers," and her voice sank to a gentle whisper.

The moonlight fell full upon her lovely face, as she spoke thus. Ah! moonlight and beauty, what have you not to answer for? Premiers are but mortal men, and as Floppington gazed into the crystal depths of her eyes, his hand pressed hers tenderly.

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You shall be my good angel,” he said. “I will be guided by you."

She did not resent the gentle pressure of his hand on hers, as she replied: "I would not have you act against your convictions for my sake. If I thought you could be tempted even by me, to be false to yourself, I could not-you would forfeit my good opinion. No, on one question at least we must be content to differ; the question to which I mean to devote my life."

"But we do not differ."

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Lady Gwendolen jumped to her feet, snatching her hand almost violently from his. Had she heard aright? She stood staring at him blankly. A whirl of conflicting emotions surged within her brain, and she pressed her hand to her forehead, and it was as one in a dream that she repeated his words, "but we do not differ!" 'No, I am at one with you in the Enfranchisement of Woman. It is a burning shame that she should have no voice in the making of laws which she must obey; which weigh often enough more heavily on her than on man. It is a wrong that has endured too long. It must be righted now ;" and his voice thrilled as he spoke, and he shook his hand as if threatening the Bacchus, who still laughed on.

Still the same dazed look in her eyes. Was she dreaming? No, all around seemed real enough. The moonlight played on fern and palm. The plash of the fountain sounded painfully loud, as she murmured: "But when we were last together, you said it was impossible."

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"I said- -"he paused irresolute for a moment, then with a gesture of determination he said in low tones, vibrating with emotion: Why should I hide it from you any longer? Happily I need no longer veil my olden fears from you, for fear you should laugh them away. Now that I have myself proved their hollowness, I need no longer hesitate to expose my apprehensions. You must know, then, that I was never so opposed to the Enfranchisement of Women as you seem to have imagined."