"Perhaps you may. I won't say but what you may get yourself educated to it when you've been married a dozen years to an English wife, and have half-a-dozen English children of your own. But, in the meantime, look at my position. I am twenty-eight years old." "I am four years your senior." "It does not matter a straw to you," continued Everett. "But a few years are everything with me. I have a right to suppose that I may be able to represent the county,--say in twenty years. I shall probably then be the head of the family and a rich man. Consider what a parliamentary education would be to me! And then it is just the life for which I have laid myself out, and in which I could make myself useful. You don't sympathise with me, but you might understand me." "I do both. I think of going into the House myself." "You!" "Yes; I do." "You must have changed your ideas very much then within the last month or two." "I have changed my ideas. My one chief object in life is, as you know, to marry your sister; and if I were a Member of Parliament I think that some difficulties would be cleared away." "But there won't be an election for the next three years at any rate," said Everett Wharton, staring at his friend. "You don't mean to keep Emily waiting for a dissolution?" "There are occasional vacancies," said Lopez. "Is there a chance of anything of that kind falling in your way?" "I think there is. I can't quite tell you all the particulars because other people are concerned, but I don't think it improbable that I may be in the House before--; well, say in three months' time." "In three months' time!" exclaimed Everett, whose mouth was watering at the prospects of his friend. "That is what comes from going to stay with the Prime Minister, I suppose." Lopez shrugged his shoulders. "Upon my word I can't understand you," continued the other. "It was only the other day you were arguing in this very room as to the absurdity of a parliamentary career,--pitching into me, by George, like the very mischief, because I had said something in its favour,--and now you are going in for it yourself in some sort of mysterious way that a fellow can't understand." It was quite clear that Everett Wharton thought himself ill-used by his friend's success. "There is no mystery;--only I can't tell people's names." "What is the borough?" "I cannot tell you that at present." "Are you sure there will be a vacancy?" "I think I am sure." "And that you will be invited to stand?" "I am not sure of that." "Of course anybody can stand whether invited or not." "If I come forward for this place I shall do so on the very best interest. Don't mention it. I tell you because I already regard my connection with you as being so close as to call upon me to tell you anything of that kind." "And yet you do not tell me the details." "I tell you all that I can in honour tell."