His servant came in with a note, which he eagerly opened. It ran thus: “I must see you instantly. I am here in the brougham, Cork Street end. Come directly. B. M.”
Endymion had to walk up half the Albany, and marked the brougham the whole way. There was in it an eager and radiant face.
“You had better get in,” said Lady Montfort, “for in these stirring times some of the enemy may be passing. And now,” she continued, when the door was fairly shut, “nobody knows it, not five people. They are going to dissolve.”
“To dissolve!” exclaimed Endymion. “Will that help us?”
“Very likely,” said Berengaria. “We have had our share of bad luck, and now we may throw in. Cheap bread is a fine cry. Indeed it is too shocking that there should be laws which add to the price of what everybody agrees is the staff of life. But you do nothing but stare, Endymion; I thought you would be in a state of the greatest excitement!”
“I am rather stunned than excited.”
“Well, but you must not be stunned, you must act. This is a crisis for our party, but it is something more for you. It is your climacteric. They may lose; but you must win, if you will only bestir yourself. See the whips directly, and get the most certain seat you can. Nothing must prevent your being in the new parliament.”
“I see everything to prevent it,” said Endymion. “I have no means of getting into parliament—no means of any kind.”
“Means must be found,” said Lady Montfort. “We cannot stop now to talk about means. That would be a mere waste of time. The thing must be done. I am now going to your sister, to consult with her. All you have got to do is to make up your mind that you will be in the next parliament, and you will succeed; for everything in this world depends upon will.”
“I think everything in this world depends upon woman,” said Endymion.