prime might still be trusted to take care of himself. When she had gone Mr. Carteret went on, addressing Nick, with the inquiry for which his deep displeasure lent him strength: "Do you pretend there is a nobler life than a high political career?"
"I think the noble life is doing one's work well One can do it very ill and be very base and mean in what you call a high political career. I haven't been in the House so many months without finding that out. It contains some very small souls."
"You should stand against them—you should expose them!" stammered Mr. Carteret.
"Stand against them—against one's own party?"
The old man looked bewildered a moment at this; then he broke out: "God forgive you, are you a Tory—are you a Tory?"
"How little you understand me!" laughed Nick, with a ring of bitterness.
"Little enough—little enough, my boy. Have you sent your electors your dreadful letter?"
"Not yet; but it's ready, and I sha'n't change my mind."
"You will—you will; you'll think better of it, you'll see your duty," said the old man, almost coaxingly.
"That seems very improbable, for my determination, crudely and abruptly as, to my great regret, it comes to you here, is the fruit of a long and painful struggle. The difficulty is that I see my duty just in this other effort."
"An effort? Do you call it an effort to fall away, to sink far down, to give up every effort? What does your mother say, heaven help her?" Mr. Carteret pursued, before Nick could answer the other question.
