Thus the dreary winter days passed slowly away. In January Edgar returned. His election had been a mere walk over the ground. The patron of the borough of Shereham had spoken the word, and Edgar Atheling was its lawful representative. It was a poor little place, but it gave Edgar a vote on the right side; and Earl Grey also hoped much from his power as a natural orator. He might take Brougham's place, and be far more amenable to directions than Brougham had ever been. Mrs. Atheling considered none of these things. She took in only the grand fact that her son was in Parliament, and that he must have won his place there by some transcendent personal merit. True, she had some little qualms of fear as to how Edgar's father would treat the new representative of Englishmen; but her invincible habit of hoping and her cheerful way of looking into the future did not suffer these passing doubts to seriously mar her glory and pride in her son's dignity. In fact, even in Annabel's eyes, Edgar Atheling was now an important person. Women do not consider causes, they look at results; and in Edgar Atheling's case the result was satisfactory. On the day the new member for Shereham returned home, she was lunching with the Athelings, eating her salad and playing with Cecil North's heart, when Edgar entered the room. His honour sat well on him; he neither paraded, nor yet affectedly ignored it. His mother's pride, his sister's pleasure, and the congratulations of his friends made him happy, and he showed it. The lunch that was nearly finished was delayed for another hour. No one liked to break up the delightful meal and conversation; and when Annabel got back to Richmoor House the short day was over, and the Duchess had sent an escort to hurry her return. "You are exceedingly imprudent, Annabel," she said, when the girl entered her presence; "and I do think it high time you stopped visiting so much at one house." "Duchess, will you say what other house equally charming is open to me? You know how little of a favourite I am. To-day I was delayed by an event,--the return of young Atheling after his election. He is now an M. P.,--a great honour for so young a man, I think." "Honour, indeed! Grey or Durham, or some of those renegades to their own caste, have given him a seat. Grey would give a seat to a puppy if it could bark 'aye' for him." "Well, I should not think Atheling will be a dumb dog; he has a ready tongue. Mr. North says he will take Brougham's place." "He will do nothing of the kind. Young Atheling is a fine talker when he has to face a mob of grumbling men on a Yorkshire moor or a city common. It is a different thing, Annabel, to stand up before the gentlemen of England. As for Mr. North, I have told you before that both the Duke and myself seriously object to that entanglement." Annabel laughed. "There is no entanglement, Duchess,--that is, on my part." "Then why throw yourself continually in the young man's way?"