His promise to be often at Quisante's house had been
flagrantly and conspicuously broken. Quisante had pressed him often; on
the three occasions on which he had called May had let him see how
gladly she would welcome him more often. He had not gone more often.
He was not sulking, for his temper was not touched; but he held aloof
because it was not to his taste to go under existing circumstances.
He knew that he gave pain to her and regretted the pain, but he could
not go, any more than he could give a vote because his good friend
Constantine Blair, the Whip, was very much put out when he wouldn't. "He
wants a party all to himself," said Constantine angrily. "And then I'm
hanged if he'd vote with it!"
Some of the things here indicated May Quisante read about him in the
papers, some Quisante brought home from the House, some she heard from
friends or divined for herself; and her heart went out to Marchmont
under the cunning lure of contrast. The Dissolution drew near now, and
political conferences, schemes, and manoeuvres were the order of the
day in Grosvenor Road and in many other houses which she frequented.
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