The head of one of these bands was my daughter Jane, and never did a candidate have a more able or enthusiastic lieutenant.  She was gifted with the true political instinct, which taught her what to say and what to leave unsaid, when to press a point home and when to abandon it for another; moreover, her personal charm and popularity fought for her cause.

One evening, as she was coming home very tired after a long day’s work in the slums of the city, Jane arrived at the model cottages outside my park gates.  Having half an hour to spare, she determined to visit a few of their occupants.  Her second call was on the Smith family.

“I am glad to see you now as always, miss,” said Mrs. Smith, “but we are in trouble here.”

“What, is little Tottie ill again?” Jane asked.

“No, miss, it isn’t Tottie this time, it’s the baby.  She’s got convulsions, or something like it, and I’ve sent for Dr. Merchison.  Would you like to see her?  She’s lying in the front room.”

Jane hesitated.  She was tired and wanted to get home with her canvass cards.  But the woman looked tired too and in need of sympathy; possibly also, for nature is nature, Jane hoped that if she lingered there a little, without in any way violating her promise, she might chance to catch a brief glimpse of the man she loved.

“Yes, I will come in for a minute,” she answered and followed Mrs. Smith into the room.

On a cheap cane couch in the corner, at the foot of which the child, Tottie, was playing with a doll, lay the baby, an infant of nearly three.  The convulsive fit had passed away and she was sitting up supported by a pillow, the fair hair hanging about her flushed face, and beating the blanket with her little fevered hands.

“Take me, mummy, take me, I thirsty,” she moaned.

“There, that’s how she goes on all day and it fairly breaks my heart to see her,” said the mother, wiping away a tear with her apron.  “If you’ll be so kind as to mind her a minute, miss, I’ll go and make a little lemonade.  I’ve got a couple of oranges left, and she seems to like them best of anything.”

Jane’s heart was stirred, and, leaning down, she took the child in her arms.  “Go and get the drink,” she said, “I will look after her till you come,” and she began to walk up and down the room rocking the little sufferer to and fro.

Presently she looked up to see Dr. Merchison standing in the doorway.

“Jane, you here!” he said.

“Yes, Ernest.”

He stepped towards her, and, before she could turn away or remonstrate, bent down and kissed her on the lips.

“You shouldn’t do that, dear,” she said, “it’s out of the bargain.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” he answered, “but I couldn’t help it.  I said that I would keep clear of you, and if I have met you by accident it is not my fault.  Come, let me have a look at that child.”