Lady Montfort drove off to the private residence of the Secretary of the Treasury, who was of course in the great secret. She looked over his lists, examined his books, and seemed to have as much acquaintance with electioneering details as that wily and experienced gentleman himself. “Is there anything I can do?” she repeatedly inquired; “command me without compunction. Is it any use giving any parties? Can I write any letters? Can I see anybody?”

“If you could stir up my lord a little?” said the secretary inquiringly.

“Well, that is difficult,” said Lady Montfort, “perhaps impossible. But you have all his influence, and when there is a point that presses you must let me know.”

“If he would only speak to his agents?” said the secretary, “but they say he will not, and he has a terrible fellow in ——shire, who I hear is one of the stewards for a dinner to Sir Robert.”

“I have stopped all that,” said Lady Montfort. “That was Odo’s doing, who is himself not very sound; full of prejudices about O’Connell, and all that stuff. But he must go with his party. You need not fear about him.”

“Well! it is a leap in the dark,” said the secretary.

“Oh! no,” said Lady Montfort, “all will go right. A starving people must be in favour of a government who will give them bread for nothing. By the by, there is one thing, my dear Mr. Secretary, you must remember. I must have one seat, a certain seat, reserved for my nomination.”

“A certain seat in these days is a rare gem,” said the secretary.

“Yes, but I must have it nevertheless,” said Lady Montfort. “I don’t care about the cost or the trouble—but it must be certain.”

Then she went home and wrote a line to Endymion, to tell him that it was all settled, that she had seen his sister, who agreed with her that it must be done, and that she had called on the Secretary of the Treasury, and had secured a certain seat. “I wish you could come to luncheon,” she added, “but I suppose that is impossible; you are always so busy. Why were you not in the Foreign Office? I am now going to call on the Tory women to see how they look, but I shall be at home a good while before seven, and of course count on seeing you.”

In the meantime, Endymion by no means shared the pleasurable excitement of his fair friend. His was an agitated walk from the Albany to Whitehall, where he resumed his duties moody and disquieted. There was a large correspondence this morning, which was a distraction and a relief, until the bell of Mr. Sidney Wilton sounded, and he was in attendance on his chief.

“It is a great secret,” said Mr. Wilton, “but I think I ought to tell you; instead of resigning, the government have decided to dissolve. I think it a mistake, but I stand by my friends. They believe the Irish vote will be very large, and with cheap bread will carry us through. I think the stronger we shall be in Ireland the weaker we shall be in England, and I doubt whether our cheap bread will be cheap enough. These Manchester associations have altered the aspect of affairs. I have been thinking a good deal about your position. I should like, before we broke up, to have seen you provided for by some permanent office of importance in which you might have been useful to the state, but it is difficult to manage these things suddenly. However, now we have time at any rate to look about us. Still, if I could have seen you permanently attached to this office in a responsible position, I should have been glad. I impressed upon the chief yesterday that you are most fit for it.”

“Oh! do not think of me, dear sir; you have been always too kind to me. I shall be content with my lot. All I shall regret is ceasing to serve you.”

Lady Montfort’s carriage drove up to Montfort House just as Endymion reached the door. She took his arm with eagerness; she seemed breathless with excitement. “I fear I am very late, but if you had gone away I should never have pardoned you. I have been kept by listening to all the new appointments from Lady Bellasyse. They quite think we are out; you may be sure I did not deny it. I have so much to tell you. Come into my lord’s room; he is away fishing. Think of fishing at such a crisis! I cannot tell you how pleased I was with my visit to Lady Roehampton. She quite agreed with me in everything. ‘It must be done,’ she said. How every right! and I have almost done it. I will have a certain seat; no chances. Let us have something to fall back upon. If not in office we shall be in opposition. All men must sometime or other be in opposition. There you will form yourself. It is a great thing to have had some official experience. It will save you from mares’ nests, and I will give parties without end, and never rest till I see you prime minister.”

So she threw herself into her husband’s easy chair, tossed her parasol on the table, and then she said, “But what is the matter with you, Endymion? you look quite sad. You do not mean you really take our defeat—which is not certain yet—so much to heart. Believe me, opposition has its charms; indeed, I sometimes think the principal reason why I have enjoyed our ministerial life so much is, that it has been from the first a perpetual struggle for existence.”

“I do not pretend to be quite indifferent to the probably impending change,” said Endymion, “but I cannot say there is anything about it which would affect my feelings very deeply.”

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