Even Letheringham was barely civil. It was certain
that his place in the Cabinet would be intolerable. He yearned for
escape from it all, and the means of escape were now at hand. In
after years he knew very well that the shadow of his broken trust,
the torture of his misused opportunities, would stand for ever
between him and the light. But at that moment he was able to clear
his mind of all such disquieting thoughts. He had won Lucille
--never mind at what cost, at what peril! He had won Lucille!
He was deeply engrossed, and his name was spoken twice in his ear
before he turned round. A small, somewhat shabby-looking man, with
tired eyes and more than a day's growth of beard upon his chin, had
accosted him.
"Mr. Brott, sir. A word with you, please."
Brott held out his hand. Nevertheless his tone when he spoke lacked
heartiness.
"You, Hedley! Why, what brings you to London?"
The little man did not seem to see the hand. At any rate he made
no motion to take it.
"A few minutes' chat with Mr. Brott. That's what I've come for."
Brott raised his eyebrows, and nodded in somewhat constrained
fashion.
"Well," he said, "I am on my way to my rooms. We can talk as we
go, if you like. I am afraid the good people up in your part of
the world are not too well pleased with me.
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