“Perhaps circumstances have altered since I last heard from you in such a way as to make the consultations I suggest unnecessary. Mr. Selby-Harrison senior and Hilda’s mother may both have died, prematurely worn out by great anxiety. In that case I do not press for any consideration of their wishes. But if they still linger on I should particularly wish to obtain their approval before definitely accepting the offer of the A.S.P.L.” I thought that a good letter. It was possible that Mr. Selby-Harrison had died, but I felt sure, judging from what I had heard of her, that Hilda’s mother was a woman of vigour and determination who would live as long as was humanly possible. I was not even slightly disquieted by a telegram handed to me just before I left Lisbon. “Letter received. Scruples strictly respected. Other arrangements in contemplation. “Lalage.” I forgot all about the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying and its offer of help when I arrived in Ireland. Mr. Titherington came up to Dublin to meet me and showed every sign of keeping me very busy indeed. He turned out to be a timber merchant by profession, who organized elections by way of recreation whenever opportunity offered. I was told in the office of the Conservative and Unionist Association that no man living was more crafty in electioneering than Mr. Titherington, and that I should do well to trust myself entirely to his guidance. I made up my mind to do so. My uncle who also met me in Dublin, had been making inquiries of his own about Mr. Titherington and gave me the results of them in series of phrases which, I felt sure, he had picked up from somebody else. “Titherington,” he said, “has his finger on the pulse of the constituency.” “There isn’t a trick of the trade but Titherington is thoroughly up to it.” “For taking the wind out of the sails of the other side Titherington is absolutely A1.” All this confirmed me in my determination to follow Mr. Titherington, blindfold. The first time I met him he told me that we were going to have a sharp contest and gave me the impression that he was greatly pleased. A third candidate had taken the field, a man in himself despicable, whose election was an impossibility; but capable perhaps of detaching from me a number of votes sufficient to put the Nationalist in the majority. “And O’Donoghue, let me tell you,” said Titherington, “is a smart man and a right good speaker.” “I’m not,” I said. “I can see that.” I do not profess to know how he saw it. So far as I know, inability to make speeches does not show on a man’s face, and Titherington had no other means of judging at that time except the appearance of my face. No one in fact, not even my mother, could have been sure then that I was a bad speaker. I had never spoken at a public meeting. “But,” said Titherington, “we’ll pull you through all right. That blackguard Vittie can’t poll more than a couple of hundred.”