“Yes; I have finished my morning's reading for her Ladyship, noted her letters, answered the official portion of her correspondence, talked the newspaper for Mr. Martin, hummed a singing lesson for Miss Mary, listened to a grand jury story of Mr. Repton; and now, that they are all off to their several destinations, here I am, very much at the service of Mr. Massingbred.”
“Who never needed counsel more than at this moment!” said Jack, running his hands distractedly through his hair. “That 's from my father!” added he, handing her a letter with a portentous-looking seal attached to it.
“What a fine bold hand, and how easy to read!” said she, perusing it. Jack watched her narrowly while she read; but on her calm impassive face not a line nor a lineament betrayed emotion.
“It is, then, an English borough he recommends,” said she, laying it down; “and I suppose, looking to an official career, he is quite right. The 'No Irish need apply' might be inscribed over Downing Street; but is that altogether your view?”
“I scarcely know what I project as yet,” said he. “I have no career!”
“Well, let us plan one,” replied she, crossing her arms on the table, and speaking with increased earnestness. “The Martins have offered you Oughterard—” He nodded, and she went on: “And, as I understand it, very much on your own conditions?”
“That is to say, I'm not to damage the Tories more than I can help, nor to help the Radicals more than I must.”
“Is there any designation for the party you will thus belong to?” asked she.
“I 'm not exactly sure that there is; perhaps they 'd call me a Moderate Whig.”
“That sounds very nice and commonplace, but I don't like it. These are not times for moderation; nor would the part suit you!”