"Well, you know I am not original, and my poor old dad brought us up on the soundest Tory principles; he never would even compromise on the word Conservative. But considering that Jack is as Liberal as if the taint were in the marrow of his bones, what a blessing that poor Artie did not happen to be the oldest son. Cecilia says they were all talking of it at Maundrell Abbey, where of course it is a peculiarly interesting topic. That ornamental and conscientious peer, Lord Barnstable, has never ceased to regret his father's death, for reasons far removed from sentimental. He told Cecilia that Lord Strathland almost confessed to him that he would give his right eye to hand over his old shoes to Jack, not only because he detests Zeal, but because it would take the backbone out of his Liberalism--" "And ruin _his_ career. Thank heaven Zeal is engaged at last. They will marry in the spring, and then the only cloud on Jack's horizon will vanish." "What if there were no children?" "There are so much more often than not--that is the least of my worries. He had five girls by his first wife; there is no reason why this splendid cow I have picked out should not produce a dozen boys. I never worked so hard over one of Jack's elections--not only to overcome Zeal's misogyny, which he calls scruples, but I had to fight Strathland every inch of the way. When I think of Jack's desperation if he were pitchforked up into the Peers--you do not know him as I do." "Well, he is safe for a time, I fancy. There has been consumption in the family before, and always the slowest sort--" A footman entered with a yellow envelope on a tray. Lady Victoria opened it without haste or change of color. "Jack is returned," she said. "How jolly," replied the other, with equal indifference. II "You look tired--I will take you up to your room. Vicky has so many on her hands." The American rose slowly, but with a flash of gratitude in her eyes. "I am tired, and I don't know a soul here. I almost wish Lady Victoria had not asked me down, although I have wanted all my life to visit one of the ancestral homes of England." "Oh, you'll get over that, and used to us," said Miss Thangue, smiling. "Your staircase is behind this door, and we can slip out without attracting attention. They are all gabbling over Jack's election." She opened a door in a corner of the hall where the newly arrived guests were gathered about Lady Victoria's tea-table, and led the way up a wide dark and slippery stair. After the first landing the light was stronger, and the walls were, to an inch, covered with portraits and landscapes, the effect almost as careless as if the big open space were a lumber-room. "Are they _all_ old masters?" asked Miss Isabel Otis, politely, her eyes roving over the dark canvases. "Oh no; the masters are down-stairs. I'll show them to you to-morrow. These are not bad, though." "What a lot of ancestors to have!"