Londoners realized at last that they were people of a majestic city, that the grime and sordid ugliness which for ages had shrouded their buildings veiled a world rich with poetry and beauty. With their civic soul requickened, they studied and were proud of the thousand years of living history--their heritage. They wore their hats with a cock. Their stride lengthened. Their chins showed disdain for the gutter. The ancient Romans, the Venetians and Florentines of medieval Italy, were not more truly town-patriotic than were the inhabitants of the rediscovered London. February had arrived; and midway through the despised, misunderstood month, the Houses of Parliament met. Writs to fill vacant seats were moved for. Geoffrey Season was back at Armingham Castle, strenuously electioneering, pursuing the last lap of his candidature. The newspapers describe elections so well that it is not necessary for this poor pen to tell the story of that particular battle between the Buffs and the Blues. It is enough to state that the foreseen took place--it is, despite the Disraelian dictum, nearly always the expected that happens--Lord Geoffrey Season was put at the top of the poll, defeating his Blue opponent, Mr. Tutherman, by a few less than seven hundred votes, which was rather better than the average in that constituency. He arrived at the House of Commons, the youngest, and, therefore, the most sanguine member of Parliament, ten days after the session had commenced. He purposed determinately to carry into effect the projects of the fairies. When he was introduced to the Commons and took his seat, the Debate on the Address was still proceeding turgidly. Progress struggled feebly against a stream of talk. June and Bim entered the House with Geoffrey; and as nowadays she went hardly anywhere in public without the accompaniment of a self-appointed bodyguard, full fifty fairies grouped around her. Queenly was her state as she surveyed, from the vantage-ground of the clock, the languid, sprawling gentlemen who comprised the House. For quite a time the elves watched the proceedings. They were amused and puzzled by many things; it would be inappropriate here to detail precisely what these were. Then gradually the fairies grew bored; the infinite stream of talk went on and on. The light of their presences faded. Their glory was dwindling. Their strength, which is expressed in brightness, was gradually diminishing. This wouldn’t do! June roused herself, and gave Bim a push which sent him spinning and then sprawling on the floor of the House below. He rose indignant at this treatment, strode with his stiffest dignity to the table, and, with a spring and some effort, perched himself astride the mace.