“Lumley Ferrers has talent to do me honour,” said he, anxiously, “but his principles seem unstable. However, surely that open manner is the sign of a good heart.”
Meanwhile, Ferrers, in high spirits, took his way to Ernest’s house. His friend was not at home, but Ferrers never wanted a host’s presence in order to be at home himself. Books were round him in abundance, but Ferrers was not one of those who read for amusement. He threw himself into an easy-chair, and began weaving new meshes of ambition and intrigue. At length the door opened, and Maltravers entered.
“Why, Ernest, how ill you are looking!”
“I have not been well, but I am now recovering. As physicians recommend change of air to ordinary patients—so I am about to try change of habit. Active I must be—action is the condition of my being; but I must have done with books from the present. You see me in a new character.”
“How?”
“That of a public man—I have entered parliament.”
“You astonish me!—I have read the papers this morning. I see not even a vacancy, much less an election.”
“It is all managed by the lawyer and the banker. In other words, my seat is a close borough.”
“No bore of constituents. I congratulate you, and envy. I wish I were in parliament myself.”
“You! I never fancied you bitten by the political mania.”