“Lord Beresford is going into Parliament,”—she continued the conversation, always delighted to speak about Berry,—“and, do you know, Berry will never make a great speaker?” she confided to him, as if it were a matter of extreme surprise, no less than regret, to more than herself. “Berry acts, he does not speak. He has few words, except on rare occasions. He says he could not be eloquent to save his life. But that is nonsense; at least I have heard him what I call eloquent—to save other people’s lives, when he had to argue against the bad water and worse drainage in Friarton, the town next us. He hopes to be a useful member; and he says though he hates to be in town, and it makes him shiver to think there is the most distant chance of his having to speak within earshot of the reporters and the strangers’ gallery, and ironical cheers from the opposition benches, yet he ought to make himself acquainted with the working of the House of Commons, and to put himself in training, since, if he live, he must sit in the other House one day.” “He is very good,” said De Vaux, abstractedly. “Oh yes,” said Lady Margaret warmly, without any affectation of contradicting him. “I must not tell you what I think, because Berry says, if I go about praising him or any of the others, we shall be set down as the Mutual Admiration Society; only I may be permitted to mention that he does not need to go into Parliament for occupation. Our vicar—with whom, by-the-bye, Berry has some differences—always maintains that my eldest brother, what with his clubs, societies, and night-schools, his allotment schemes and co-operative experiments, is the hardest-worked man in the parish.” “For a member of the bloated aristocracy,” commented De Vaux, with somewhat grim humour. “Yes; is it not an odd order for Berry, as well as yourself, to belong to?” she asked, laughing merrily; and then she added seriously—“But it is no laughing matter. Berry says he does not wonder at that, or indeed at any term of opprobrium, after the awful gulf which has been permitted to yawn and deepen between the ranks.” “Lord Beresford will never fill it,” said Lord De Vaux dogmatically, and with a suspicion of irritation. “Not above a tithe of the people for whom he is spending himself will even understand him—far less be a bit the better for his waste of life and energy.” “Berry says a man’s life would be well spent in helping a handful of his fellow-creatures, especially his countrymen—not to say our own people down at Southfolds,” said Lady Margaret serenely. “Did I say a tithe? Probably not more than one will follow your brother’s lead.” “Berry says he would not grudge his work if one man, woman, or child were the gainer by it,” said Lady Margaret proudly.