There were the beginnings of a quarrel with a pompous and little-known fellow-member of his own Party who attempted to talk learnedly on wine. Repton had begun, “What on earth d’you know about wine? Why, your old father wouldn’t allow you swipes when you went to fetch the supper beer!” He had begun thus, I say, to recall the humble origins of the politician, when he added: “But there, what’s the good of quarreling? You’re all the same herd,”--his evident illness excused him. He led them back to the women, a gloomy troupe; they began to leave uncommonly early. The one who lingered last was a very honest man, stupid, straightforward and rich. He was fond of Charles Repton, simply because Repton had once done him a very cheap good turn in the matter of a legal dispute; he had stopped a lawsuit. And this man ever, since--it was now five years ago,--was ready to serve that household. His name, I should add, was Withers, and he was a Commoner; he sat for Ashington. He had not only this loyal feeling for Charles Repton, which he was perhaps the only man in London to feel; he had also a simple admiration for him, for his career, for his speeches, for his power of introducing impromptu such words as “well,” and “now” and “I will beg the House to observe” into his careful arguments. Lady Repton trusted him, and she was glad to see him remaining alone after the others had left. Charles Repton was sitting at the end of the room, staring at nothingness. Withers whispered to Lady Repton a rapid query as to what had happened. She could tell him nothing, but her eyes filled with tears. “Wouldn’t it be better,” said Withers hurriedly, in a low tone, “if I got him back to vote to-night? There’ll be three divisions at eleven. There’s bound to be a scandal if he doesn’t turn up.” “Yes--no--very well,” said Lady Repton. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand anything.” She almost broke down. “Repton,” said Withers, “won’t you come along with me? It’s half-past ten, there’ll be three divisions.” Repton startled them both nearly out of their skins. “Divisions?” he shrieked, jumping up. “Go down and maunder past those green boxes in a great stifling pack for nothing at all? Not if I know it! Why I can guess you the majority from here. And if there wasn’t any majority I should blasted well like to know the difference it would make! Divisions! Oh chase me!” And he snorted and sat down again.