’Dead, my dear Mr. Lespel.  I’ll say for the Whigs, they would not be seen touting for Tories if they were not ghosts of Whigs.  You are dead.  There is no doubt of it.’

‘But,’ Grancey Lespel repeated, ’if there’s no doubt about it, how is it I have a doubt about it?’

’The Whigs preached finality in Reform.  It was their own funeral sermon.’

‘Nonsensical talk!’

’I don’t dispute your liberty of action to go over to the Tories, but you have no right to attempt to take an honest Liberal with you.  And that I’ve stopped.’

’Aha!  Beauchamp; the man’s mine.  Come, you’ll own he swore he wouldn’t vote for a Shrapnelite.’

’Don’t you remember?—­that’s how the Tories used to fight you; they stuck an epithet to you, and hooted to set the mob an example; you hit them off to the life,’ said Beauchamp, brightening with the fine ire of strife, and affecting a sadder indignation.  ’You traded on the ignorance of a man prejudiced by lying reports of one of the noblest of human creatures.’

‘Shrapnel?  There!  I’ve had enough.’  Grancey Lespel bounced away with both hands outspread on the level of his ears.

‘Dead!’ Beauchamp sent the ghastly accusation after him.

Grancey faced round and said, ‘Bo!’ which was applauded for a smart retort.  And let none of us be so exalted above the wit of daily life as to sneer at it.  Mrs. Lespel remarked to Mr. Culbrett, ’Do you not see how much he is refreshed by the interest he takes in this election?  He is ten years younger.’

Beauchamp bent to her, saying mock-dolefully, ’I’m sorry to tell you that if ever he was a sincere Whig, he has years of remorse before him.’

‘Promise me, Captain Beauchamp,’ she answered, ’promise you will give us no more politics to-day.’

‘If none provoke me.’

‘None shall.’

‘And as to Bevisham,’ said Mr. Culbrett, ’it’s the identical borough for a Radical candidate, for every voter there demands a division of his property, and he should be the last to complain of an adoption of his principles.’

‘Clever,’ rejoined Beauchamp; ‘but I am under government’; and he swept a bow to Mrs. Lespel.

As they were breaking up the group, Captain Baskelett appeared.

‘Ah!  Nevil,’ said he, passed him, saluted Miss Halkett through the window, then cordially squeezed his cousin’s hand.  ’Having a holiday out of Bevisham?  The baron expects to meet you at Mount Laurels to-morrow.  He particularly wishes me to ask you whether you think all is fair in war.’

‘I don’t,’ said Nevil.

‘Not?  The canvass goes on swimmingly.’

’Ask Palmet!

’Palmet gives you two-thirds of the borough.  The poor old Tory tortoise is nowhere.  They’ve been writing about you, Nevil.’

’They have.  And if there ’s a man of honour in the party I shall hold him responsible for it.’