“Pshaw! Do I want my son to turn steward? I have to-day received a letter from Lady Bayliffe strongly recommending me a manager, and I have all but settled to engage him.”
“Then don’t do it,” promptly replied Stuart. “He is not wanted.”
“He is wanted! I shall not allow you, Stuart, to do this kind of work.”
“My dear mother, I am of age!”
Mrs. Crosbie was silent, and Stuart, looking up, saw the pain and perplexity on her face.
“Forgive me, mother,” he added, moving toward her. “I am very selfish. Tell me what you want me to do, and if it is in my power I will undertake it.”
“I want you to rise in the world; I want you to be famous, Stuart.”
“Fame is not to be bought, mother.”
“It is within your reach. Contest Chesterham at the next election. You will be returned with an immense majority. The rest will follow.”
“I have no brains for politics,” declared Stuart. “I cannot do it.”