“I’ll be,” says Twemlow, “at the club by ten minutes to twelve, and I’ll never leave it all day.”

Veneering feels that his friends are rallying round him, and says, “Thank you, thank you. I knew I could rely upon you. I said to Anastatia before leaving home just now to come to you⁠—of course the first friend I have seen on a subject so momentous to me, my dear Twemlow⁠—I said to Anastatia, ‘We must work.’ ”

“You were right, you were right,” replies Twemlow. “Tell me. Is she working?”

“She is,” says Veneering.

“Good!” cries Twemlow, polite little gentleman that he is. “A woman’s tact is invaluable. To have the dear sex with us, is to have everything with us.”

“But you have not imparted to me,” remarks Veneering, “what you think of my entering the House of Commons?”