"But why?" he said again. "Why?"
Still Loder avoided the frightened surprise of his, eyes.
"Because I withdraw," he answered, doggedly.
Then suddenly Chilcote's tongue was loosened. "Loder," he
cried, excitedly, "you can't do it! God! man, you can't do
it!" To reassure himself he laughed--a painfully thin echo of
his old, sarcastic laugh. "If it's a matter of greater
opportunity--" he began, "of more money--"
But Loder turned upon him.
"Be quiet!" he said, so menacingly that the other stopped.
Then by an effort he conquered himself, "It's not a matter of
money, Chilcote," he said, quietly; "it's a matter of
necessity." He brought the word out with difficulty.
Chilcote glanced up. "Necessity?" he repeated. "How? Why?"
The reiteration roused Loder. "Because there was a great
scene in the House last night," he began, hurriedly; "because
when you go back you'll find that Sefborough has smashed up
over the assassination of Sir William Brice-Field at Meshed,
and that you have made your mark in a big speech; and because
--" Abruptly he stopped.
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