“But you cannot deny, Flixton,” Vaughan answered soberly, “that the country is excited as we have never known it excited before? And that a rising is not impossible!” “A rising! I wish we could see one! That’s just what we want,” the Honourable Bob answered, stopping and bringing his companion to a sudden stand also. “Eh? Who was that old Roman—Poppæa, or some name like that, who said he wished the people had all one head that he might cut it off?” suiting the action to the word with his cane. “A rising, begad? The sooner the better! The old Fourteenth would know how to deal with it!” “I don’t know,” Vaughan answered, “that you would be so confident if you were once face to face with it!” “Oh, come! Don’t talk nonsense!” “Well, but——” “Oh, I know all that! But I say, old chap,” he continued, changing his tone, and descending abruptly from the political to the personal situation, “You’ve played your cards badly, haven’t you? Eh?” Vaughan fancied that he referred to Mary; or at best to his quarrel with Sir Robert. And he froze visibly, “I won’t discuss that,” he said in a different tone. And he moved on again. “But I was there the evening you had the row!” “At Stapylton?” “Yes.” “Well?” stiffly. “And, lord, man, why didn’t you sing a bit small? And the old gentleman would have come round in no time!” Vaughan halted, with anger in his face. “I won’t discuss it!” he said with something of violence in his tone. “Very well, very well!” Flixton answered with the superabundant patience of the man whose withers are not wrung. “But when you did get your seat—why didn’t you come to terms with someone?” with a wink. “As it is, what’s the good of being in the House three months, or six months—and out again?” Vaughan wished most heartily that he had not met the Honourable Bob; who, he remembered, had always possessed, hearty and jovial as he seemed, a most remarkable knack of rubbing him the wrong way. “How do you know?” he asked with a touch of contempt—was he, a rising Member of Parliament to be scolded after this fashion?—“How do you know that I shall be out?” “You’ll be out, if it’s Chippinge you are looking to!” “Why, if you please, my friend? Why so sure?” Flixton winked with deeper meaning than before. “Ah, that’s telling,” he said. “Still—why not? If you don’t hear it from me, old chap, you’ll soon hear it from someone. Why, you ask? Well, because a little bird whispered to me that Chippinge was—arranged! That Sir Robert and the Whigs understood one another, and whichever way it went it would not come your way!” Vaughan reddened deeply. “I don’t believe it,” he said bluntly. “Did you know that Chippinge was going to be spared?” “No.” “They didn’t tell you?” “No.” “Ah!” shrugging his shoulders, with a world of meaning, and preparing to turn away. “Well, other people did, and there it is. I may be wrong, I hope I am, old chap. Hope I am! But anyway—I must be going. I turn here. See you soon, I hope!”