"Dash it all!" Mr. Bundercombe continued a little testily. "I only want to get at the common sense of the matter. You are thinking of trying for a seat in Parliament, and you say the four hundred a year you get for it is nothing. Well, of course, it's nothing. What I want to know is just what you get out of it indirectly? You get the handling of so much patronage, I suppose? What is it worth to you, and how much is there?"
I spent the next five minutes in an eloquent attempt to explain the difference between English and American politics. Mr. Bundercombe was partly convinced, but more than ever sure that he had found his way into a country of half-witted people. Eve, however, was much quicker at grasping the situation.
"I think it's perfectly delightful, Paul!" she declared. "I have read no end of stories of English electioneering, and they sound such fun! I want to come down and help. I have tons of new dresses—and I can read up all about politics going down on the train."
"That brings me," I went on, "to the real object of my visit. I want you and your father—I want you all," I added heroically—"to come down with me to Bedfordshire and help. You were coming anyway next week for a little time, you know. I want to carry you off at once."
Mrs. Bundercombe, who had been only waiting for her opportunity, broke in at this juncture.
"Young man," she said impressively; "Mr. Walmsley, before I consent to attend one of your meetings or to associate myself in any way with your cause, I must ask you one plain and simple question, and insist upon a plain and simple answer: What are your views as to Woman Suffrage?"
"The views of my party," I answered, with futile diplomacy.
"Enunciate as briefly as possible, but clearly, what the views of your party are," Mrs. Bundercombe bade me.
"I won't have him heckled!" Eve protested, coming over to my side.
I coughed.