And the blow to him was very heavy.  Men but seldom tell the truth of what is in them, even to their dearest friends; they are ashamed of having feelings, or rather of showing that they are troubled by any intensity of feeling.  It is the practice of the time to treat all pursuits as though they were only half important to us, as though in what we desire we were only half in earnest.  To be visibly eager seems childish, and is always bad policy; and men, therefore, nowadays, though they strive as hard as ever in the service of ambition—­harder than ever in that of mammon—­usually do so with a pleasant smile on, as though after all they were but amusing themselves with the little matter in hand.

Perhaps it had been so with Sir Roger in those electioneering days when he was looking for votes.  At any rate, he had spoken of his seat in Parliament as but a doubtful good.  ’He was willing, indeed, to stand, having been asked; but the thing would interfere wonderfully with his business; and then, what did he know about Parliament?  Nothing on earth:  it was the maddest scheme, but nevertheless, he was not going to hang back when called upon—­he had always been rough and ready when wanted—­and there he was now ready as ever, and rough enough too, God knows.’

’Twas thus that he had spoken of his coming parliamentary honours; and men had generally taken him at his word.  He had been returned, and this success had been hailed as a great thing for the cause and class to which he belonged.  But men did not know that his inner heart was swelling with triumph, and that his bosom could hardly contain his pride as he reflected that the poor Barchester stone-mason was now the representative of his native city.  And so, when his seat was attacked, he still laughed and joked.  ‘They were welcome to it for him,’ he said; ’he could keep it or want it; and of the two, perhaps, the want of it would come most convenient to him.  He did not exactly think that he had bribed any one; but if the bigwigs chose to say so, it was all one to him.  He was rough and ready, now as ever,’ &c &c.

But when the struggle came, it was to him a fearful one; not the less fearful because there was no one, no, not one friend in all the world, to whom he could open his mind and speak out honestly what was in his heart.  To Dr Thorne he might perhaps have done so had his intercourse with the doctor been sufficiently frequent; but it was only now and then when he was ill, or when the squire wanted to borrow money, that he saw Dr Thorne.  He had plenty of friends, heaps of friends in the parliamentary sense; friends who talked about him, and lauded him at public meetings; who shook hands with him on platforms and drank his health at dinners; but he had no friends who could sit with him over his own hearth, in true friendship, and listen to, and sympathize with, and moderate the sighings of the inner man.  For him there was no sympathy; no tenderness of love; no retreat, save into himself, from the loud brass band of the outer world.