In spite of the broken arm it was a pleasant meeting. For the last fortnight Sir Thomas had not only not seen a human being with whom he could sympathise, but had been constrained to associate with people who were detestable to him. His horror of Griffenbottom, his disgust at Trigger, his fear of Mr. Pabsby's explanations, and his inability to cope with Messrs. Spicer and Roodylands when they spoke of mustard and boots, had been almost too much for him. The partial seclusion occasioned by his broken arm had been a godsend to him. In such a state he was prepared to feel that his daughter's presence was an angel's visit. And even to him his success had something of the pleasure of a triumph. Of course he was pleased to have won the seat. And though whispers of threats as to a petition had already reached him, he was able in these, the first hours of his membership, to throw his fears on that head behind him. The man must be of a most cold temperament who, under such circumstances, cannot allow himself some short enjoyment of his new toy. It was his at least for the time, and he probably told himself that threatened folk lived long. That Patience should take glory in the victory was a matter of course. "Dear papa," she said, "if you can only get your arm well again!" "I don't suppose there is any cause for fear as to that." "But a broken arm is a great misfortune," said Patience. "Well;--yes. One can't deny that. And three Percycross doctors are three more misfortunes. I must get home as soon as I can." "You mustn't be rash, papa, even to escape from Percycross. But, oh, papa; we are so happy and so proud. It is such an excellent thing that you should be in Parliament again." "I don't know that, my dear." "We feel it so,--Clary and I,--and so does Mary. I can't tell you the sort of anxiety we were in all day yesterday. First we got the telegram about your arm,--and then Stemm came down at eight and told us that you were returned. Stemm was quite humane on the occasion." "Poor Stemm!--I don't know what he'll have to do." "It won't matter to him, papa;--will it? And then he told me another piece of news." "What is it?" "You won't like it, papa. We didn't like it at all." "What is it, my dear?" "Stemm says that Ralph has sold all the Newton Priory estate to his uncle." "It is the best thing he could do." "Really, papa?" "I think so. He must have done that or made some disreputable marriage." "I don't think he would have done that," said Patience. "But he was going to do it. He had half-engaged himself to some tailor's daughter. Indeed, up to the moment of your telling me this I thought he would marry her." Poor Clary! So Patience said to herself as she heard this. "He had got himself into such a mess that the best thing he could do was to sell his interest to his uncle. The estate will go to a better fellow, though out of the proper line."