a formal harangue—­thus, as he boasted, opening the political campaign.  He read aloud (for the seventh time) Lord Beaconsfield’s public letter to the Duke of Marlborough, in which the country was warned, to begin with, against the perils of Home Rule.  “It is to be hoped that all men of light and leading will resist this destructive doctrine. . . .  Rarely in this century has there been an occasion more critical.  The power of England and the peace of Europe will largely depend on the verdict of the country. . . .  Peace rests on the presence, not to say the ascendancy, of England in the Councils of Europe.”

“Here you have it,” cried the orator, as he dashed the newspaper to his feet, “pure, unadulterated Jingoism!  ’Ascendancy in the Councils of Europe!’ How are the European powers likely to hear that, do you think?  I venture to tell my Lord Beaconsfield—­I venture to tell him on behalf of this constituency—­aye, and on behalf of this country—­that it is he who holds ‘destructive doctrine’!  I venture to tell my Lord Beaconsfield that England is not prepared to endorse any such insolent folly!  We shall very soon have an opportunity of hearing how far such doctrine recommends itself to our man ’of light and leading’—­to our Radical candidate—­to our future member, Mr. Denzil Quarrier!”

A burst of cheering echoed from the drapery-laden shelves.  Two servant-girls who had come to the door intent on purchase of hair-pins ran frightened away, and spread a report that Mr. Chown’s shop was on fire.

At dinner-time the politician was faced by his angry wife.

“I know what the end of this’ll be!” cried Mrs. Chown.  “You’re ruining your business, that’s what you’re doing!  Who do you think’ll come to the shop if they find it full of shouting ragamuffins?  They’ll all go to Huxtable’s, that’s what they’ll do!  I’ve no patience”——­

“There’s no need to declare that!” replied Mr. Chown, rolling his great eyes at her with an expression of the loftiest scorn.  “I have known it for thirteen years.  You will be so good as to attend to your own affairs, and leave me to see to mine!  What does a woman care for the interests of the country?  Grovelling sex!  Perhaps when I am called upon to shoulder a rifle and go forth to die on the field of battle, your dense understanding will begin to perceive what was at stake.—­Not another syllable!  I forbid it!  Sit down and serve the potatoes!”

At the same hour Denzil Quarrier, at luncheon with Lilian, was giving utterance to his feelings on the great topic of the day.

“Now is the time for women to show whether their judgment is worthy of the least confidence.  This letter of Beaconsfield’s makes frank appeal to the spirit of Jingoism; he hopes to get at the fighting side of Englishmen, and go back to power on a wave of ’Rule, Britannia’ bluster.  If it is true that women are to be trusted in politics, their influence will be overwhelming against such irresponsible ambition.  I have my serious doubts”——­