As for Lord Philip--Ferrier's thoughts ran upon that gentleman with a
good-humor which was not without malice. He had played his cards
extremely well, but the trumps in his hand had not been quite strong
enough. Well, he was young; plenty of time yet for Cabinet office. That
he would be a thorn in the side of the new Ministry went without saying.
Ferrier felt no particular dismay at the prospect, and amused himself
with speculations on the letters which had probably passed that very day
between Broadstone and the "iratus Achilles" in Northamptonshire.
And from Lord Philip, Ferrier's thoughts--shrewdly indulgent--strayed to
the other conspirators, and to Oliver Marsham in particular, their
spokesman and intermediary. Suddenly a great softness invaded him toward
Oliver and his mother. After all, had he not been hard with the boy, to
leave him to his fight without a word of help? Oliver's ways were
irritating; he had more than one of the intriguer's gifts; and several
times during the preceding weeks Ferrier's mind had recurred with
disquiet to the letters in his hands. But, after all, things had worked
out better than could possibly have been expected.
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