Timothy rubbed his hands with an abstracted air of washing. “Well, commander, well, sir, they say a candidate’s to be humoured in his infancy, for _he_ has to do all the humouring before he’s many weeks old at it; only there’s the fact!—he soon finds out he has to pay for his first fling, like the son of a family sowing his oats to reap his Jews. Credit me, sir, I thought it prudent to counteract a bit of an apothecary’s shop odour in the junior Liberal candidate’s address. I found the town sniffing, they scented Shrapnel in the composition.” “Every line of it was mine,” said Beauchamp. “Of course it was, and the address was admirably worded, sir, I make bold to say it to your face; but most indubitably it threatened powerful drugs for weak stomachs, and it blew cold on votes, which are sensitive plants like nothing else in botany.” “If they are only to be got by abandoning principles, and by anything but honesty in stating them, they may go,” said Beauchamp. “I repeat, my dear sir, I repeat, the infant candidate delights in his honesty, like the babe in its nakedness, the beautiful virgin in her innocence. So he does; but he discovers it’s time for him to wear clothes in a contested election. And what’s that but to preserve the outlines pretty correctly, whilst he doesn’t shock and horrify the optics? A dash of conventionalism makes the whole civilized world kin, ye know. That’s the truth. You must appear to be one of them, for them to choose you. After all, there’s no harm in a dyer’s hand; and, sir, a candidate looking at his own, when he has won the Election...” “Ah, well,” said Beauchamp, swinging on his heel, “and now I’ll take my leave of you, and I apologize for bringing you down here so early. Please attend to what I have said; it’s peremptory. You will give me great pleasure by dining with me to-night, at the hotel opposite. Will you? I don’t know what kind of wine I shall be able to offer you. Perhaps you know the cellar, and may help me in that.” Timothy grasped his hand, “With pleasure, Commander Beauchamp. They have a bucellas over there that’s old, and a tolerable claret, and a Port to be inquired for under the breath, in a mysteriously intimate tone of voice, as one says, ‘I know of your treasure, and the corner under ground where it lies.’ Avoid the champagne: ’tis the banqueting wine. Ditto the sherry. One can drink them, one can drink them.” “At a quarter to eight this evening, then,” said Nevil. “I’ll be there at the stroke of the clock, sure as the date of a bill,” said Timothy. And it’s early to guess whether you’ll catch Bevisham or you won’t, he reflected, as he gazed at the young gentleman crossing the road; but female Bevisham’s with you, if that counts for much. Timothy confessed, that without the employment of any weapon save arrogance and a look of candour, the commander had gone some way toward catching the feminine side of himself. CHAPTER XV. CECILIA HALKETT