She laughed pleasantly. “Well,” she allowed, “perhaps it is not quite the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we not,” with her head on one side and a charming smile, “make a treaty of peace?” “And what,” Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, “becomes of the rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity of elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has brought into being? Must we not think of these things?” She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a slightly heightened colour, “In good time, we must,” she replied. “But for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without assistance.” “What?” it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. “The new and independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change is here!” But he forbore. He said instead—but with the faintest shade of irony, “Without _our_ assistance, I think you mean, Lady Lansdowne?” “Yes. And that being so, why should we not agree, my lord and you—to save Kerry’s pocket shall I say—to bring forward a candidate alternately?” Sir Robert shook his head gravely. He would fight. “Allowing to you, Sir Robert, as the owner of the influence hitherto dominant in the borough, the first return.” “The first return—after the Bill passes?” “Yes.” That was a different thing. That was another thing altogether. A gleam of satisfaction shone for an instant under the baronet’s bushy eyebrows. The object he had most at heart was to oust his treacherous cousin. And here was a method, sure and safe: more safe by far than any contest under the new Bill? “Well I—I cannot say anything at this moment,” he said, at last, trying to hide his satisfaction. “These heats once over I do not see—your ladyship will pardon me—why my influence should not still predominate.” It was Lady Lansdowne’s turn. “And things be as before?” she answered. “No, Sir Robert, no. You forget those rights of the people which you were so kind as to support a moment ago. Things will not be as before. But—but perhaps I shall hear from you? Of course it is not a matter that can be settled, as in the old days, by our people.” “You shall certainly hear,” he said, with something more than courtesy. “In the meantime——” “I am dying to see your daughter,” she answered. “I am told that she is very lovely. Where is she?” “A few minutes ago she was in the Elm Walk,” Sir Robert answered, a slight flush betraying his gratification. “I will send for her.” But her ladyship would not hear of this; nor would she suffer him to leave his post to escort her. “Here’s la belle Suffolk coming to take leave of you,” she said. “And I know my way.” “But you will not know her,” Sir Robert answered. Lady Lansdowne let her parasol sink over her shoulder. “I think I shall,” she said with a glance of meaning, “if she is like her mother.”