young Debarry, and not my old friend Sir Maximus, who is offering himself as candidate for North Loamshire."
"Yes. You did not answer me when I wrote to you to London about your standing. There is no other Tory candidate spoken of, and you would have all the Debarry interest."
"I hardly think that," said Harold, significantly.
"Why? Jermyn says a Tory candidate can never be got in without it."
"But I shall not be a Tory candidate."
Mrs. Transome felt something like an electric shock.
"What then?" she said, almost sharply. "You will not call yourself a Whig?"
"God forbid! I'm a Radical."
Mrs. Transome's limbs tottered; she sank into a chair. Here was a distinct confirmation of the vague but strong feeling that her son was a stranger to her. Here was a revelation to which it seemed almost as impossible to adjust her hopes and notions of a dignified life as if her son had said that he had been converted to Mahometanism at Smyrna, and had four wives, instead of one son, shortly to arrive under the care of Dominic. For the moment she had a sickening feeling that it was all of no
