The Prime Minister had spoken quietly but intensely, his strong eyes riveting the other man.

'Obviously,' Warrender said, 'my question is answered. Praise is not the order of the day.'

James Howden said sharply, 'It isn't a question of praise or blame. It's a matter of good political judgement.'

'And your political judgement has always been better than mine, Jim. Isn't that so?' Warrender's eyes squinted upward. 'Otherwise I might be leader of the party instead of you.'

Howden made no reply. The liquor in the other man was obviously taking hold. Now Warrender said, 'What my officials are doing is administering the law as it stands. I happen to think they're performing a good job. If you don't like it, why don't we get together and amend the Immigration Act?'

He had made a mistake, the Prime Minister decided, in choosing this time and place to talk. Seeking to end the conversation, he said, 'We can't do that. There's too much else in our legislative programme.'

'Balls!'

It was like a whipcrack in the room. There was a second's silence. Heads turned. The Prime Minister saw the Governor General glance in their direction. Then conversation resumed, but Howden could sense that others were listening.

'You're afraid of immigration,' Warrender said. 'We're all afraid – the way every other Government has been. That's why we won't admit a few things honestly, even among ourselves.'

Stuart Cawston, who had finished his conjuring tricks a moment or two earlier, strolled with seeming casualness to join them. 'Harvey,' the Finance Minister said cheerfully, 'you're making an ass of yourself.'

'Take care of him, Stu,' the Prime Minister said. He could feel his anger growing; if he continued to handle this himself there was a danger he would lose his temper, always volatile, which could only make the situation worse. Moving away, he joined Margaret and another group.