‘Naturally, but I don’t think they talk so much anywhere as in Thanshope.’ ‘Perhaps they haven’t so much cause.’ ‘That is rather too bad.’ ‘You mean that people are not often so rude to you. I can quite fancy so.’ ‘You will agree with me that I have lost all my friends.’ ‘You do not seem broken-hearted,’ said Helena. ‘You look well and cheerful.’ She raised her eyes, and surveyed his face, straightly and composedly. Sebastian wished the look had not been so entirely self-possessed. ‘I lead too busy a life to be broken-hearted,’ he replied. ‘Pray don’t suppose that I spend my time in thinking how lonely I am.’ ‘I never supposed anything of the kind.’ ‘It is simply that I once had friends, and circumstances removed them, and I have not been able to fill up their places. I have worked hard--really hard, and I think I have learnt some good lessons in these sad years.’ ‘Yes,’ said Helena, looking up, with the old eager interest in her eyes, the old brightness upon her face. ‘You must indeed have learned some lessons. My greatest trouble in leaving Thanshope was that I lost sight of all my friends that I had made during the distress. I have had no interest like that since then. You have. And you have had other interests too. I saw that they had asked you to be the Radical candidate, when Mr. Lippincott resigned. There is a prospect before you! Have you given your answer yet?’ ‘My answer is due to-morrow. And upon my honour, I don’t know what it is going to be. What would you advise?’ ‘Mr. Mallory!’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Why will you persist in saying such things? Do you think it is amusing?’ ‘According to you, I must have the most wonderful faculty of amusement that any man possessed. Please, do I think what amusing?’ ‘Do you think it amusing to ask questions of that kind?--to solemnly ask advice when you don’t want it? To consult a woman, and a young woman, upon an important step in life? We don’t understand these things--at least you say so, and I choose to take you at your word, so far as you are concerned. I do not choose to be treated as you once treated me, when I was in earnest, and then be appealed to for an opinion. I have no opinion on the question.’ ‘I wish I had never opened my lips upon that question. You have never forgiven me, and you never will,’ said he, in a deep tone of mortification. ‘I too was in earnest when I asked you to-night what you advised. I have been vacillating, and considering and wondering what was best, like----’ ‘Like a woman.’ ‘Like a lonely man who has no counsellor to whom to apply.’ ‘How pathetic!’ ‘Will you really not give me one word of advice? Would you accept or not?’ ‘You do not want my advice. You--it is absurd! You have lots of men to advise you. What can you want my advice for?’ She spoke impatiently. Stung by her tone, words, and manner, he leaned suddenly forward, saying,