_ CANTELUPE
_has not moved and now faces_ HORSHAM _just as accusingly._
CANTELUPE. Cyril, this is tragic.
HORSHAM. [_More to himself than in answer._] Yes ... most annoying.
CANTELUPE. Lucifer, son of the morning! Why is it always the highest who
fall?
HORSHAM _shies fastidiously at this touch of poetry._
HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us above all things keep our mental
balance. Trebell is a most capable fellow. I'd set my heart on having him
with me ... he'll be most awkward to deal with in opposition. But we shall
survive his loss and so would the country.
CANTELUPE. [_Desperately._] Cyril, promise me there shall be no compromise
over this measure.
HORSHAM. [_Charmingly candid._] No ... no unnecessary compromise, I promise
you.
CANTELUPE. [_With a sigh._] If we had done what we have done to-night in
the right spirit! Blackborough was almost vindictive.
HORSHAM. [_Smiling without amusement._] Didn't you keep thinking ... I did
... of that affair of his with Mrs. Parkington ... years ago?
CANTELUPE. There was never any proof of it.
HORSHAM. No ... he bought off the husband.
CANTELUPE. [_Uneasily._] His objections to Trebell were--political.
HORSHAM. Yours weren't.
CANTELUPE. [_More uneasily still._] I withdrew mine.
HORSHAM. [_With elderly reproof._] I don't think, Charles, you have the
least conception of what a nicely balanced machine a cabinet is.
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