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Updated: June 25, 2025
For the moment the Forlorn Widows stood leagues away from Paul's thoughts. He had passed a strenuous day at Hickney Heath, lunching in the committee room on sandwiches and whisky and soda obtained from the nearest tavern, talking, inventing, dictating, writing, playing upon dull minds the flashes of his organizing genius. His committee was held up for the while by a dark rift in the Radical camp.
He vowed that the time would soon come when he could claim her, and went away in feverish search for worlds to conquer. Then came October and London once more. Paul was dressing for dinner one evening when a reply-paid telegram was brought to him. "If selected by local committee will you stand for Hickney Heath? Ayres." He sat on his bed, white and trembling, and stared at the simple question.
Not he.... At last he wrote: PRINCESS, A thousand grateful thanks for last night's gracious act the act of the very great lady that I have the privilege of knowing you to be. He rang for a servant and ordered the note to be sent by hand, and then went out to Hickney Heath to see to the burying of his dead. On his return he found a familiar envelope with the crown on the flap awaiting him.
A little while later they drove off with him to his committee room in the motor car gay with his colours. There was still much to be done that day. HICKNEY HEATH blazed with excitement. It is not every day that a thrill runs through a dull London borough, not even every election day. For a London borough, unlike a country town, has very little corporate life of its own.
If he could have had his way, Hickney Heath would have flamed with poster reproductions of it. But he had a dim appreciation of, and a sneaking admiration for, the aristocrat's point of view, and, being a practical man, evaded a discussion on the ethics of the situation. The situation was rendered more extraordinary because the Liberal candidate made no appearance in the constituency.
"And perhaps a happier man." "Bosh, my dear Paul!" she said, shaking her head slowly. "Rot! Rubbish! I know you too well. You adding up figures at thirty shillings a week, with a common sense wife for I suppose you mean that mending your socks and rocking the cradle in a second-floor back in Hickney Heath!
Awakener of England indeed! He could not even awaken Hickney Heath. As he dashed through the streets in his triumphal car, he hated Hickney Heath, hated the wild "hoorays" of waggon-loads of his supporters on their way to the polls, hated the smug smiles of his committee-men at polling stations. He forgot that he did not hate England.
"Why did Lord Francis tell you to go to Hickney Heath last July?" How a woman leaps at things I With all his ambition, his astuteness, his political intuition, he had not seen the opportunity. But it had come. Verily the stars in their courses were fighting for him.
Every newspaper in London and for the matter of that, every newspaper in Great Britain rang with the story, and every man, woman and child in Hickney Heath read feverishly every newspaper, morning and evening, they could lay their hands on. Also, every man, woman and child in Hickney Heath asked his neighbour for further details.
With a real Member of Parliament to preside, a. real dean to propose the vote of thanks, another Member of Parliament and two ex-mayors of the borough to add silent dignity to the proceedings, well-known ladies, including, now, a real Princess to grace the assembly, this meeting of the Hickney Heath Lodge was the most important occasion on which Paul had appeared in public.
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