“You can add Bruffam, if you like,” Wathen answered good-humouredly—he was not paying two thousand five hundred guineas for his seat. “And rid me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke! But come, gentlemen, now we’re here and no bones broken, shall we sit down? We are all safe, I trust, Mr. White? And especially—my future constituents?” with a glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes. “Yes, sir, no harm done,” White replied as cheerfully as he could; which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippinge he had known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. “Yes, sir,” he continued, looking round, “all here, I think! And—and by Jove,” in a tone of relief, “one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! I am glad, sir, very glad, sir,” he added heartily, “to see you. Very glad!” The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutes before did not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. He looked sulky and bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he could do no less. Then, saying scarcely a word, he stood back again. He had hastened to Chippinge on receiving White’s belated express, but rather because, irritated by the collision with Flixton, he welcomed any change, than because he was sure what he would do. In the chaise he had thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the Honourable Bob than of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was concerned, he was resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had travelled no farther. Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way, taken somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himself it did not matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take, that was their business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, he was in a savage mood, with half his mind here and the other half dwelling on the events of the morning. For the moment politics seemed to him a poor game, and what he did or did not do of little consequence! White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might have resented it in another. But Sir Robert’s heir was a great man and had a right to moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a fine gentleman and thought it a nuisance to vote in his own borough. They were all politeness to him, therefore, and while his eyes passed haughtily beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, they presented to him those whom he did not know. “Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan,” said the Sergeant, who, like many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. “Very kind indeed! I don’t know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged to you for your attendance.” “Greatly obliged, sir,” Mr. Cooke muttered. “Certainly, certainly.” Vaughan bowed coldly. “Is not Sir Robert here?” he asked. He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke. “No, Mr. Vaughan.” And then, “This way to dinner,” White cried loudly. “Come, gentlemen! Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!”