“Well, I thowt you wouldn’t dine with us,” he said, turning away with a blunt laugh.

Bennett’s mild eye showed annoyance.  “Mr. Wharton has explained himself very fully, I think,” he said, turning to the others.  “We shall miss him at dinner—­but this matter seems to be one of life and death.  And we mustn’t forget anyway that Mr. Wharton is fulfilling this engagement at great inconvenience to himself.  We none of us knew when we elected him last year that he would have to be fighting his election at the same time.  Next Saturday, isn’t it?”

Bennett rose as he spoke and carefully buttoned his coat.  It was curious to contrast his position among his fellows—­one of marked ascendency and authority—­with his small insignificant physique.  He had a gentle deprecating eye, and the heart of a poet.  He played the flute and possessed the gift of repeating verse—­especially Ebenezer Eliot’s Corn Law Rhymes—­so as to stir a great audience to enthusiasm or tears.  The Wesleyan community of his native Cheshire village owned no more successful class-leader, and no humbler Christian.  At the same time he could hold a large business meeting sternly in check, was the secretary of one of the largest and oldest Unions in the country, had been in Parliament for years, and was generally looked upon even by the men who hated his “moderate” policy, as a power not to be ignored.

“Next Saturday.  Yes!” said Wharton, nodding in answer to his inquiry.

“Well, are you going to do it?” said Casey, looking round at him.

“Oh, yes!” said Wharton, cheerfully; “oh, yes! we shall do it.  We shall settle old Dodgson, I think.”

“Are the Raeburns as strong as they were?” asked Molloy, who knew Brookshire.

“What landlord is?  Since ’84 the ground is mined for them all—­good and bad—­and they know it.”

“The mine takes a long time blowing up—­too long for my patience,” said Wilkins, gruffly.  “How the country can go on year after year paying its tribute to these plunderers passes my comprehension.  But you may attack them as you please.  You will never get any forrarder so long as Parliament and the Cabinet is made up of them and their hangers on.”

Wharton looked at him brightly, but silently, making a little assenting inclination of the head.  He was not surprised that anything should pass Wilkins’s comprehension, and he was determined to give him no opening for holding forth.

“Well, we’ll let you alone,” said Bennett.  “You’ll have very little time to get off in.  We’ll make your excuses, Mr. Wharton.  You may be sure everybody is so pleased with your speech we shall find them all in a good temper.  It was grand!—­let me congratulate you again.  Good-night—­I hope you’ll get your poacher off!”