It was precisely at this trying hour Sir Watkin Strahan might be seen lolling idly and discontentedly in one of the many armchairs which adorned the smoking-room of his Piccadilly club. By his side was an emptied glass, the ashes of a defunct cigar, and the usual journals which are humorously supposed to be comic, or to be remarkably witty, or to represent society. He did not look particularly pleased, not even when a brother member, evidently a chip of the same block, seated himself by his side, exclaiming: ‘Holloa, Sir Watkin, what brings yon up to town? I thought you were carrying all before you at Sloville.’ ‘Sloville be d---d!’ ‘Certainly, my dear friend, if you wish it. What’s Hecuba to me?’ ‘Now, look at me, and drop that style of remark.’ We comply with the Baronet’s suggestion, and look at him. He was, after all, a handsome man, carefully dressed and fitted to shine in Belgravia; soft and gentle in manner, sleek as a tiger. Time had dealt gently with him, had spared his head of hair, and saved him from the obesity which attacks most men after a certain age. Mr. Disraeli tells us that the English aristocracy do not read, and live much in the open air. Hence their juvenility. At a distance Sir Watkin looked anywhere between five-and-twenty and fifty. To-day, however, he looked nearer the latter than the former. He did not look like a good man, such as you read of in evangelical biographies or on the tombstones in churchyards and cemeteries. There was a scowl on his forehead, anger in his eye and in his tones. ‘Well,’ said another friend, ‘all I can say is I have just seen ---,’ naming the Liberal whip, ‘and he’s terribly cut up. He thought you were safe for Sloville.’ ‘So I should have been if it had not been for that infernal Wentworth. My canvassers and election agent made me feel quite certain of success. I believe they humbugged me frightfully.’ ‘Oh, they always do that. It is their nature.’ ‘But it is none the less disagreeable. My own opinion is, there was a good deal of bribery. Money seemed very plentiful. The Carlton had a finger in the pie. Old Shrouder was there; and he is always at his old game. There is not another such a rascal in all England.’ ‘That’s saying a great deal. I wonder how the old scamp has managed to keep out of Newgate.’ ‘Lord bless you, man! you know none of our hands are very clean; but I am sure I could get the new M.P. unseated on petition.’ ‘What, and claim the vacant seat?’