It was not strange that under such home influences public affairs should sink into a secondary place in Richard Lincoln's mind. He hardly looked at the newspapers, and he never expressed political opinions or predictions. When he did speak of the government, it was with confidence and respect. If he doubted or distrusted, no one knew. For two years he had lived this quiet life; but, though he turned his eyes from many signs, the astute and silent man saw danger growing like a malarial weed beneath the waters of the social and political life of his country. One morning Patterson, his business partner, who was an excitable politician, threw down his _Times_, and turned to Lincoln with an impatient manner. "We are going to smash, sir, with our eyes open. We are going to the devil on two roads." "Who is going to smash?" asked Lincoln. "The country. See here; there are two rocks ahead, the aristocrats and the demagogues, and which is worse no one can say. They are getting ready for something or other, and the good sense and patriotism of England stand by and do nothing." "Has anything particular happened?" "Yes; at West Derby yesterday, the Duke of Bayswater was elected to Parliament, getting a large majority over Tyler, a sound Republican." "Pooh! You don't take that as a specimen of all our elections? The Derby voters are mainly farmers, and the farmers retain their old respect for the lords of the manor." "And that means something," rejoined Patterson; "it is not as if those aristocrats had accepted the Republic, which they don't even pretend to do. There are now over forty of them in the lower house." "Well," answered the ex-Minister, "they have been elected by the people." "Yes; by the uninstructed people," said Patterson, warmly. "The people are talked to by these fellows with empty titles on one hand and by the demagogues on the other, and they think the only choice lies between the two." "Surely, papa," said Mary, who was interested in the conversation, "the people will not be so easily deceived?" "Deceived!" interrupted Mr. Patterson. "Why, Mary, here was an election in which the people were led to vote against one of the best Republicans in England, and for a lord who is nearly seventy, who has never done any good for himself or the country--an old pauper, who goes to Parliament for the salary and the chance to plot against the people." Mary looked at her father as if she wished him to speak. "These men," he said, "do not regain power as lords, but as commoners. That is good, instead of bad--their withdrawal would be more dangerous. We must remember that those who have lost by the revolution are still as much a part of the English people as those who have gained." "I don't know about that," said Patterson, stubbornly. "I believe those aristocrats are actually plotting treason; and a traitor separates himself from his people." Richard Lincoln's silence only stirred up the old Radical. He shot home next time.