'Oh, that I know to be impossible! I was told that by a gentleman who has been much longer in the service than Mr. Tudor, and who understands all its bearings.' She here alluded to Fidus Neverbend. 'I cannot say,' said Gertrude. 'I do not think Mr. Tudor has quite made up his mind yet.' 'Well, my dear, I'll tell you fairly what I think about it. You know the regard I have for you and Mr. Tudor. He, too, is Clementina's trustee; that is to say, her fortune is partly consigned to his care; so I cannot but have a very great interest about him, and be very anxious that he should do well. Now, my dear, I'll tell you fairly what I think, and what all the world is saying. He ought not to think of Parliament. He ought not, indeed, my dear. I speak for your sake, and your child's. He is not a man of fortune, and he ought not to think of Parliament. He has a very fine situation, and he really should be contented.' This was intolerable to Gertrude. She felt that she must put Mrs. Val down, and yet she hardly knew how to do it without being absolutely rude; whereas her husband had specially begged her to be civil to this woman at present. 'Oh,' said she, with a slight smile, 'Mr. Tudor will be able to take care of himself; you will find, I hope, that there is no cause for uneasiness.' 'Well, I hope not, I am sure I hope not,' said Mrs. Val, looking very grave. 'But I tell you fairly that the confidence which we all have in your husband will be much shaken if he does anything rash. He should think of this, you know. He has no private fortune to back him; we must remember that.' Gertrude became very red in the face; but she would not trust herself to answer Mrs. Val at the spur of the moment. 'It makes such a difference, when one has got no private fortune,' said Madame Jaquêtanàpe, the heiress. 'Does it not, Lactimel?' 'Oh, indeed it does,' said Lactimel. 'I wish every one had a private fortune; it would be so nice, wouldn't it?' 'There would be very little poetry in the world if you were to banish poverty,' said Ugolina. 'Poverty may be called the parent of poetry. Look at Milton, how poor he was; and Homer, he begged his bread.' 'But Lord Byron was not a beggar,' said Clem, contemptuously. 'I do hope Mr. Tudor will think of what he is doing,' continued Mrs. Val. 'It is certainly most good-natured and most disinterested of my dear father-in-law, Lord Gaberlunzie, to place his borough at Mr. Tudor's disposal. It is just like him, dear good old nobleman. But, my dear, it will be a thousand pities if Mr. Tudor should be led on by his lordship's kindness to bring about his own ruin.'