"I'm sure he will make a splendid speech," said Mary Thorne, with a sort of pride. "I told father it would be everything if we could get him to come down."
"He has been a long while making up his mind," said Jessie.
"Well, it is awkward for him, you see," said the other. "He naturally doesn't care to go against his uncle."
"It's worse to go against one's principles," declared Jessie, loftily.
"I quite understand it," declared Mary, loyally. "He mightn't mind it if the squire weren't such a dear old fellow, but it is awkward, and I consider it a great mark of friendship that he should do it for us."
"Is he going to stay at the Manor or at the Priory?" I put in, bluntly.
"Oh, at the Priory with us, of course," replied she. "And I must send the carriage for him in an hour. So, please, we must get on, Jessie, or I shall never be home in time."
She held out her hand to me, and of course I took it, as I took also Jessie Hoad's when she offered it, but I was not comfortable.
Why was Frank always going to stay at the Priory now, and why was he willing to risk hurting his uncle's feelings solely for the sake of doing an act of friendship to the Thornes? I could not understand it, any more than I could understand why Mr. Hoad should be so extravagantly anxious that Thorne should succeed. Miss Jessie was not in the habit of troubling herself about things that, as she would have expressed it, "didn't pay"; yet here she was putting herself to all manner of inconvenience to go canvassing with Mary Thorne, while Mr. Hoad was scouring the county for votes and spending his evenings writing flaming articles for country papers, or making emphatic speeches at country meetings.