THEY had tea in Hartopp’s room. Lord Glendover came in to inquire after Dwala’s health, which had been visibly failing the last few days.
‘We’ve cleared the last obstacle now,’ said Lady Wyse, marching up and down the room. ‘To-morrow Dwala will step into the Premiership. Hooray for the new Premier!’
She waved her cigarette triumphantly in the air.
‘The Church Party practically held the balance, don’t you see? Well, they were ready to follow Lord Whitstable, or Huggins, or Strafford-Leslie, or Prince Dwala. Lord Glendover, of course, was out of it. Well, Whitstable’s shelved: he’s incompetent, and he knows it.’
‘It’s very hard on him,’ said Lord Glendover.
‘Still, he gets the Governorship of Australia,’ said Lady Wyse; ‘and that’s fifteen thousand or so a year; not so bad after all. He’s responsible for the loss of thousands of lives in Africa.’
‘Yes; but think of the poor beggar’s feelings!’
‘Huggins’s hopes were ruined by his case against the Red Sea Shipping Company. It came out that his firm had been exporting arms to the Mad Mullah.’
‘But quite innocently!’ said Lord Glendover. ‘He’s a business man; he didn’t know it was against the law.’
‘So there was only the Prince and Strafford-Leslie left in the running. Strafford-Leslie offered an Episcopal Council for Church Jurisdiction; and we ... well, we really offered nothing.’
She laughed.