“What—­that they’re thinking of giving me Hickson’s place?  Parham has just written to me—­I found the letter down-stairs—­to ask me to go and see him.”

“Oh! it’s come?” said Lady Tranmore, with a start of pleasure.  Lord Parham was the Prime Minister.  “Now don’t be a humbug, William, and pretend you’re not pleased.  But you’ll have to work, mind!” She held up an admonishing finger.  “You’ll have to answer letters, mind!—­you’ll have to keep appointments, mind!”

“Shall I?...  Ah!—­Hudson—­”

He turned.  The butler was in the room.

“His lordship, my lady, would like to see Mr. William before dinner if he could make it convenient.”

“Certainly, Hudson, certainly,” said the young man.  “Tell his lordship I’ll be with him in ten minutes.”

Then, as the butler departed—­“How’s father, mother?”

“Oh! much as usual,” said Lady Tranmore, sadly.

“And you?”

He laid his arm boyishly round her waist, and looked up at her, his handsome face all affection and life.  Mary Lyster, observing them, thought them a remarkable pair—­he in the very prime and heyday of brilliant youth, she so beautiful still, in spite of the filling-out of middle life—­which, indeed, was at the moment somewhat toned and disguised by the deep mourning, the sweeping crape and dull silk in which she was dressed.

“I’m all right, dear,” she said, quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder.  “Now, go on with your tea.  Mary—­feed him!  I’ll go and talk to father till you come.”

She disappeared, and William Ashe approached his cousin.

“She is better?” he said, with an anxiety that became him.

“Oh yes!  Your election has been everything to her—­and your letters.  You know how she adores you, William.”

Ashe drew a long breath.

“Yes—­isn’t it bad luck?”

“William!”

“For her, I mean.  Because, you know—­I can’t live up to it.  I know it’s her doing—­bless her!—­that old Parham’s going to give me this thing.  And it’s a perfect scandal!”

“What nonsense, William!”

“It is!” he maintained, springing up and standing before her, with his hands in his pockets.  “They’re going to offer me the Under-Secretaryship for Foreign Affairs, and I shall take it, I suppose, and be thankful.  And do you know”—­he dropped out the words with emphasis—­“that I don’t know a word of German—­and I can’t talk to a Frenchman for half an hour without disgracing myself.  There—­that’s how we’re governed!”

He stood staring at her with his bright large eyes—­amused, yet strangely detached—­as though he had very little to do with what he was talking about.

Mary Lyster met his look in some bewilderment, conscious all the time that his neighborhood was very agreeable and stirring.

“But every one says—­you speak so well on foreign subjects.”

“Well, any fool can get up a Blue Book.  Only—­luckily for me—­all the fools don’t.  That’s how I’ve scored sometimes.  Oh!  I don’t deny that—­I’ve scored!” He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, his whole tall frame vibrant, as it seemed to her, with will and good-humor.