"Neither as to that nor as to anything in life; and as to the succession to Exmundham, it is his to leave as he pleases, and I have cause to think he would never leave it to me. More likely to Parson John or the parson's son,--or why not to yourself? I often think that for the prizes immediately set before my ambition I am better off without land: land is a great obfuscator." "Humph, there is some truth in that. Yet the fear of land and obfuscation does not seem to operate against your suit to Cecilia Travers?" "Her father is likely enough to live till I maybe contented to 'rest and be thankful' in the Upper House; and I should not like to be a landless peer." "You are right there; but I should tell you that, now Kenelm has come back, Sir Peter has set his heart on his son's being your rival." "For Cecilia?" "Perhaps; but certainly for Parliamentary reputation. The senior member for the county means to retire, and Sir Peter has been urged to allow his son to be brought forward,--from what I hear, with the certainty of success." "What! in spite of that wonderful speech of his on coming of age?" "Pooh! that is now understood to have been but a bad joke on the new ideas, and their organs, including 'The Londoner.' But if Kenelm does come into the House, it will not be on your side of the question; and unless I greatly overrate his abilities--which very likely I do--he will not be a rival to despise. Except, indeed, that he may have one fault which in the present day would be enough to unfit him for public life." "And what is that fault?" "Treason to the blood of the Chillinglys. This is the age, in England, when one cannot be too much of a Chillingly. I fear that if Kenelm does become bewildered by a political abstraction,--call it, no matter what, say, 'love of his country,' or some such old-fashioned crotchet,--I fear, I greatly fear, that he may be--in earnest." CHAPTER THE LAST. IT was a field night in the House of Commons,--an adjourned debate, opened by George Belvoir, who had been, the last two years, very slowly creeping on in the favour, or rather the indulgence of the House, and more than justifying Kenelm's prediction of his career. Heir to a noble name and vast estates, extremely hard-working, very well informed, it was impossible that he should not creep on. That night he spoke sensibly enough, assisting his memory by frequent references to his notes; listened to courteously, and greeted with a faint "Hear, hear!" of relief when he had done. Then the House gradually thinned till nine o'clock, at which hour it became very rapidly crowded. A Cabinet minister had solemnly risen, deposited on the table before him a formidable array of printed papers, including a corpulent blue-book. Leaning his arm on the red box, he commenced with this awe-compelling sentence,--