altogether confused and demoralising victory for democracy, that
will stir the classes which now dominate the Conservative party into
an energetic revival. They will set out to win back, and win back.
Even if my estimate of con-temporary forces is wrong and they win,
they will still be forced to reconstruct their outlook. A war
abroad will supply the chastening if home politics fail. The effort
at renascence is bound to come by either alternative. I believe I
can do more in relation to that effort than in any other connexion
in the world of politics at the present time. That's my case,
Margaret."
She certainly did not grasp what I said. "And so you will throw
aside all the beginnings, all the beliefs and pledges-" Again her
sentence remained incomplete. "I doubt if even, once you have gone
over, they will welcome you."
"That hardly matters."
I made an effort to resume my speech.
"I came into Parliament, Margaret," I said, "a little prematurely.
Still-I suppose it was only by coming into Parliament that I could
see things as I do now in terms of personality and imaginative
range…" I stopped. Her stiff, unhappy, unlistening silence
broke up my disquisition.
"After all," I remarked, "most of this has been implicit in my
writings."
She made no sign of admission.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Keep my seat for a time and make the reasons of my breach clear.
Then either I must resign or-probably this new Budget will lead to
a General Election. It's evidently meant to strain the Lords and
provoke a quarrel."
"You might, I think, have stayed to fight for the Budget."
"I'm not," I said, "so keen against the Lords."
On that we halted.
"But what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I shall make my quarrel over some points in the Budget. I can't
quite tell you yet where my chance will come. Then I shall either
resign my seat-or if things drift to dissolution I shall stand
again."
"It's political suicide."
"Not altogether."
"I can't imagine you out of Parliament again. It's just like-like
undoing all we have done. What will you do?"
"Write. Make a new, more definite place for myself. You know, of
course, there's already a sort of group about Crupp and Gane."
Margaret seemed lost for a time in painfulthought.
"For me," she said at last, "our political work has been a religion-
it has been more than a religion."
I heard in silence. I had no form of protest available against the
implications of that.
"And then I find you turning against all we aimed to do-talking of
going over, almost lightly-to those others."…
She was white-lipped as she spoke. In the most curious way she had
captured the moral values of the situation. I found myself
protesting ineffectually against her fixed conviction. "It's
because I think my duty lies in this change that I make it," I said.
"I don't see how you can say that," she replied quietly.
There was another pause between us.
"Oh!" she said and clenched her hand upon the table. "That it
should have come to this!"
She was extraordinarily dignified and extraordinarily absurd. She
was hurt and thwarted beyond measure. She had no place in her
ideas, I thought, for me. I could see how it appeared to her, but I
could not make her see anything of the intricate process that had
brought me to this divergence. The opposition of our intellectual
temperaments was like a gag in my mouth. What was there for me to
say? A flash of intuition told me that behind her white dignity was
a passionate disappointment, a shattering of dreams that needed
before everything else the relief of weeping.
"I've told you," I said awkwardly, "as soon as I could."
There was another long silence. "So that is how we stand," I said
with an air of having things defined. I walked slowly to the door.
She had risen and stood now staring in front of her.
"Good-night," I said, making no movement towards our habitual kiss.
"Good-night," she answered in a tragic note…
I closed the door softly. I remained for a moment or so on the big
landing, hesitating between my bedroom and my study. As I did so I
heard the soft rustle of her movement and the click of the key in
her bedroom door. Then everything was still…
She hid her tears from me. Something gripped my heart at the
"Damnation!" I said wincing. "Why the devil can't people at least
THINK in the same manner?"
2
And that insufficient colloquy was the beginning of a prolonged
estrangement between us. It was characteristic of our relations
that we never reopened the discussion. The thing had been in the
air for some time; we had recognised it now; the widening breach
between us was confessed. My own feelings were curiously divided.
It is remarkable that my very real affection for Margaret only
became evident to me with this quarrel. The changes of the heart
are very subtle changes. I