“Thank God, yes.”

“It’s all very well thanking God, but I should have gone as poor Jack has gone, if I hadn’t been the most careful man in the world.  He was drinking champagne ten days ago;—­would do it, you know.”  Lord Tulla could talk about himself and his own ailments by the hour together, and Dr. Finn, who had thought that his noble patient was approaching the subject of the borough, was beginning again to feel that the double interest of the gout that was present, and the gout that had passed away, would be too absorbing.  He, however, could say but little to direct the conversation.

“Mr. Morris, you see, lived more in London than you do, and was subject to temptation.”

“I don’t know what you call temptation.  Haven’t I the temptation of a bottle of wine under my nose every day of my life?”

“No doubt you have.”

“And I don’t drink it.  I hardly ever take above a glass or two of brown sherry.  By George! when I think of it, I wonder at my own courage.  I do, indeed.”

“But a man in London, my lord—­”

“Why the deuce would he go to London?  By-the-bye, what am I to do about the borough now?”

“Let my son stand for it, if you will, my lord.”

“They’ve clean swept away Brentford’s seat at Loughton, haven’t they?  Ha, ha, ha!  What a nice game for him,—­to have been forced to help to do it himself!  There’s nobody on earth I pity so much as a radical peer who is obliged to work like a nigger with a spade to shovel away the ground from under his own feet.  As for me, I don’t care who sits for Loughshane.  I did care for poor Jack while he was alive.  I don’t think I shall interfere any longer.  I am glad it lasted Jack’s time.”  Lord Tulla had probably already forgotten that he himself had thrown Jack over for the last session but one.

“Phineas, my lord,” began the father, “is now Under-Secretary of State.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt he’s a very fine fellow;—­but you see, he’s an out-and-out Radical.”

“No, my lord.”

“Then how can he serve with such men as Mr. Gresham and Mr. Monk?  They’ve turned out poor old Mildmay among them, because he’s not fast enough for them.  Don’t tell me.”

“My anxiety, of course, is for my boy’s prospects.  He seems to have done so well in Parliament.”

“Why don’t he stand for Marylebone or Finsbury?”

“The money, you know, my lord!”

“I shan’t interfere here, doctor.  If he comes, and the people then choose to return him, I shall say nothing.  They may do just as they please.  They tell me Lambert St. George, of Mockrath, is going to stand.  If he does, it’s the d——­ piece of impudence I ever heard of.  He’s a tenant of my own, though he has a lease for ever; and his father never owned an acre of land in the county till his uncle died.”  Then the doctor knew that, with a little management, the lord’s interest might be secured for his son.