Was there a twinkle in the editor’s eye as it met Lashmar’s smile?  Constance was watching him with unnaturally staid countenance, and her glance ran round the table.

“I’m only afraid,” said Lady Ogram, “that he won’t stand again.”

“I think he will,” cried Breakspeare, “I think he will.  The ludicrous creature imagines that Westminster couldn’t go on without him.  He hopes to die of the exhaustion of going into the lobby, and remain for ever a symbol of thick-headed patriotism.  But we will floor him in his native market-place.  We will drub him at the ballot.  Something assures me that, for a reward of my life’s labours, I shall behold the squashing of Robb!”

Lady Ogram did not laugh.  Her sense of humour was not very keen, and the present subject excited her most acrimonious feelings.

“We must get hold of the right man,” she exclaimed, with a glance at Lashmar.

“Yes, the right man,” said Breakspeare, turning his eyes in the same direction.  “The man of brains, and of vigour; the man who can inspire enthusiasm; the man, in short, who has something to say, and knows how to say it.  In spite of the discouraging aspect of things, I believe that Hollingford is ready for him.  We leading Liberals are few in number, but we have energy and the law of progress on our side.”

Lashmar had seemed to be musing whilst he savoured a slice of pine-apple.  At Breakspeare’s last remark, he looked up and said: 

“The world moves, and always has moved, at the impulse of a very small minority.”

“Philosophically, I am convinced of that,” replied the editor, as though he meant to guard himself against too literal or practical an application of the theorem.

“The task of our time,” pursued Dyce, with a half absent air, “is to make this not only understood by, but acceptable to, the multitude.  Political education is our pressing need, and political education means teaching the People how to select its Rulers.  For my own part, I have rather more hope of a constituency such as Hollingford, than of one actively democratic.  The fatal thing is for an electorate to be bent on choosing the man as near as possible like unto themselves.  That is the false idea of representation.  Progress does not mean guidance by one of the multitude, but by one of nature’s elect, and the multitude must learn how to recognise such a man.”

He looked at Lady Ogram, smiling placidly.

“There’s rather a Tory sound about that,” said the hostess, with a nod, “but Mr. Breakspeare will understand.”

“To be sure, to be sure!” exclaimed the editor.  “It is the aristocratic principle rightly understood.”

“It is the principle of nature,” said Lashmar, “as revealed to us by science.  Science—­as Mr. Breakspeare is well aware—­teaches, not levelling, but hierarchy.  The principle has always been dimly perceived.  In our time, biology enables us to work it out with scientific precision.”