"Where are you staying?
"At the Metropole. Mr. Bullsom is there also."
"I will call," Mr. Henslow promised, "at three o'clock, if that is
convenient."
Brooks passed out across the great courtyard and through the gates. He
had gone to his interview with Henslow in a somewhat depressed state of
mind, and its result had not been enlivening. Were all politics like
this? Was the greatest of causes, the cause of the people, to be tossed
about from one to the other, a joke with some, a juggling ball with
others, never to be dealt with firmly and wisely by the brains and
generosity of the Empire? He looked back at the Houses of Parliament,
with their myriad lights, their dark, impressive outline. And for a
moment the depression passed away. He thought of the freedom which had
been won within those walls, of the gigantic struggles, the endless,
restless journeying onward towards the truths, the great truths of the
world. All politicians were not as this man Henslow. There were
others, more strenuous, more single-hearted. He himself--and his heart
beat at the thought--why should he not take his place there? The thought
fascinated him,--every word of Lord Arranmore's letter which he had
recently received, seemed to stand out before him.
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