"Certainly, Hudson, certainly," said the young man. "Tell his Lordship I'll be with him in ten minutes."
Then, as the butler departed, "How's father, mother?"
"Oh, much as usual," said Lady Tranmore, sadly.
"And you?"
He laid his arm boyishly round her waist and looked up at her, his handsome face all affection and life. Mary Lyster, observing them, thought them a remarkable pair—he, in the very prime and heyday of brilliant youth; she, so beautiful still, in spite of the filling-out of middle life—which, indeed, was at the moment somewhat toned and disguised by the deep mourning, the sweeping crape and dull silk in which she was dressed.
"I'm all right, dear," she said, quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Now go on with your tea. Mary—feed him! I'll go and talk to father till you come."
She disappeared; and William Ashe approached his cousin.
"She is better?" he said, with an anxiety that became him.
"Oh! yes. Your election has been everything to her—and your letters. You know how she adores you, William."
Ashe drew a long breath.
"Yes—isn't it bad luck?"
"William!"
"For her, I mean. Because, you know—I can't live up to it. I know it's her doing—bless her!—that old Parham's going to give me this thing. And it's a perfect scandal!"
"What nonsense, William!"
"It is!" he maintained, springing up, and standing before her with his hands in his pockets. "They're going to offer me the Under-Secretaryship for Foreign Affairs, and I shall take it, I suppose, and be thankful. And do you know"—he dropped out the words with emphasis—"that I don't know a word of German—and I can't talk to a Frenchman for half an hour without disgracing myself. There—that's how we're governed!"
He stood staring at her with his bright, large eyes—amused, yet strangely detached,—as though he had very little to do with what he was talking about. Mary Lyster met his look in some bewilderment, conscious all the time that his neighborhood was very agreeable and stirring.
"But every one says—you speak so well on foreign subjects."
"Well, any fool can get up a Blue Book. Only—luckily for me—all the fools don't. That's how I've scored sometimes. Oh, I don't deny that,—I've scored!" He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, his whole tall frame vibrant, as it seemed to her, with will and good-humor.
"And you'll score again," she said, smiling. "You've got a wonderful opportunity, William. That's what the Bishop says."
"Much obliged to him!"
Ashe looked down upon her rather oddly.
"He told me he had never believed you were such an idler as other people thought you—that he felt sure you had great endowments, and that you would use them for the good of your country and"—she hesitated slightly—"of the Church. I wish you'd talk to him sometimes, William. He sees so clearly."
"Oh! does he?" said Ashe.
Mary had dropped her work, and her somewhat large face was raised towards him. Its pale color had passed into a slight blush. But the more strenuous expression had somehow not added to her charm, and her voice had taken a slightly nasal tone.
Through the mind of William Ashe, as he stood looking down upon her, passed a multitude of flying impressions. He knew perfectly well that Mary Lyster was one of the maidens whom it would be possible for him to marry. His mother had never pressed her upon him, but she would certainly acquiesce. It would have been mere mock modesty on his part not to guess that Mary would probably not refuse him. And she was handsome, well provided, well connected—oppressively so, indeed; a man might quail a little before her relations. Moreover, she and he had always been good friends, even when as a boy he could not refrain from teasing her for a slow-coach. During his electoral weeks in the country the thought of "Polly" had often stolen kindly upon his rare moments of peace. He must marry, of course. There was no particular excitement or romance about it. Now that his elder brother was dead, and he had become the heir, it simply had to
