“You’ll see Lufton in all probability before I shall.” “Oh, did I not tell you? He’s going to Framley Court at once; you’ll find him there when you return.” “Find him at Framley!” “Yes; this little _cadeau_ from his mother has touched his filial heart. He is rushing home to Framley to pay back the dowager’s hard moidores in soft caresses. I wish I had a mother; I know that.” And Mark still felt that he feared Mr. Sowerby, but he could not make up his mind to break away from him. And there was much talk of politics just then at the castle. Not that the duke joined in it with any enthusiasm. He was a whig—a huge mountain of a colossal whig—all the world knew that. No opponent would have dreamed of tampering with his whiggery, nor would any brother whig have dreamed of doubting it. But he was a whig who gave very little practical support to any set of men, and very little practical opposition to any other set. He was above troubling himself with such sublunar matters. At election time he supported, and always carried, whig candidates; and in return he had been appointed lord lieutenant of the county by one whig minister, and had received the Garter from another. But these things were matters of course to a Duke of Omnium. He was born to be a lord lieutenant and a knight of the Garter. But not the less on account of his apathy, or rather quiescence, was it thought that Gatherum Castle was a fitting place in which politicians might express to each other their present hopes and future aims, and concoct together little plots in a half-serious and half-mocking way. Indeed it was hinted that Mr. Supplehouse and Harold Smith, with one or two others, were at Gatherum for this express purpose. Mr. Fothergill, too, was a noted politician, and was supposed to know the duke’s mind well; and Mr. Green Walker, the nephew of the marchioness, was a young man whom the duke desired to have brought forward. Mr. Sowerby also was the duke’s own member, and so the occasion suited well for the interchange of a few ideas. The then prime minister, angry as many men were with him, had not been altogether unsuccessful. He had brought the Russian war to a close, which, if not glorious, was at any rate much more so than Englishmen at one time had ventured to hope. And he had had wonderful luck in that Indian mutiny. It is true that many of those even who voted with him would declare that this was in no way attributable to him. Great men had risen in India and done all that. Even his minister there, the governor whom he had sent out, was not allowed in those days any credit for the success which was achieved under his orders. There was great reason to doubt the man at the helm. But nevertheless he had been lucky. There is no merit in a public man like success!