"Of course," said Quisante, "all this is strictly between ourselves."
Her cheek flushed a little. "You mustn't tell me any more business
secrets. I don't like them," said she, and she turned away to escape the
quick, would-be covert glance that she knew he would direct at her.
Money was necessary; votes had been necessary; old Foster smiled in fat
shrewdness from the mantelpiece. May Quisante was less sure that she knew
the worst.
CHAPTER XV.
A STRANGE IDEA.
The next few weeks were a time of restless activity with Alexander
Quisante. Again he was like an electric current, not travelling now from
constituency to constituency, but between Westminster and his cousin
Mandeville's offices in the City. In both places he was very busy. His
leader had declared for a waiting policy, and an interval in which the
demoralisation of defeat should pass away; the party must feel its feet
again, the great man said. Constantine Blair was full of precedents for
the course, quoting Lord Melbourne, Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham,
and all the gods of the Parliamentarian.
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