Denzil could
not instantly reply.
"Give it up!" pursued Glazzard. "Take Lilian abroad, and live a life
of quiet happiness. Go on with your literary work"----
"Nonsense! I can't draw back now, and I don't wish to."
"Would you--if--if _I_ were willing to become the Liberal
candidate?"
Denzil stared in astonishment.
"You? Liberal candidate?"
"Yes, I!"
A peal of laughter rang through the room. Glazzard had spoken as if
with a great effort, his voice indistinct, his eyes furtive. When
the burst of merriment made answer to him, he fell back in his
chair, crossed his legs, and set his features in a hard smile.
"You are joking, old fellow!" said Denzil.
"Yes, if you like."
Quarrier wished to discuss the point, but the other kept an
obstinate silence.
"I understand," remarked Denzil, at length. "You hit upon that
thought out of kindness to me. You don't like my project, and you
wished to save me from its dangers. I understand. Hearty thanks, but
I have made up my mind. I won't stunt my life out of regard for an
imbecile superstition. The dangers are _not_ great; and if they
were, I should prefer to risk them. You electioneering! Ho, ho!"
Glazzard's lips were close drawn, his eyes veiled by the drooping
lids. He had ceased to smoke, and when, a few minutes later, he
threw away his cigar, it was all but squeezed flat by the two
fingers which had seemed to hold it lightly.
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