CHAPTER XXIV.
Life in London.
If you will only give me time,
And likewise opportunity,
To earth's high places I will climb
And govern the community.
One summer's day it happened that Mr. Kesterton gave a tea-party on the terrace of the House of Commons in honour of the Robert Thistletowns, the Paul Seatons and Lady Farley. It was one of those broiling afternoons, when all the world longs for shade and a breeze; and these two luxuries are almost always to be found on the terrace at Westminster. The latter is sometimes found inside the walls as well; but this "indoor relief" cannot be depended upon. Everybody knows that when the two Houses of Parliament agree, there are few things that they cannot compass; so when they combine to cast a pleasant shade—and get the river Thames to help them with a cool breeze or two—they naturally succeed in producing the most refreshing atmosphere that is to be found in London in July.
Isabel loved going to the House now; for to her "inward eye" St. Stephen's had suddenly developed—from being a mere uninteresting historical antiquity and dry political fact—into an effective and suitable background for the figure of her husband. Therefore the place was worth seeing as often as she had time to see it; and she was absorbingly interested in everything that she saw. But to her this afternoon was a special occasion; for Paul had made his first great speech in a full-dress debate (and his reputation at the same time), and was receiving congratulations on all sides. Isabel and her aunt had heard the speech from behind the gilt lattice of the ladies' gallery; while it was being delivered, the former felt that here at last was the ideal statesman for whom England had waited through the ages; while the latter decided that Paul spoke like a man and looked like a gentleman, and that Isabel might have done worse.
When it was tea-time Mr. Kesterton came to fetch them down to the terrace; and their progress was punctuated by compliments on Paul's success from all the members that they met.
Isabel knew what admiration of herself was like; she had lived on it all her life, and had thought that there was nothing better. Now she found that there was.
"How many members are killed every year from tumbling down this pitch-dark staircase?" she inquired of her host as they proceeded to the terrace.
"That, my dear lady, is a State secret which I am not at liberty to divulge. We never talk about it. We just hide them under the stairs, like the princes in the Tower, and no one asks any questions."
"I suppose it would be unconstitutional for public men to see which way they were going?" suggested Isabel.
"Most unconstitutional," answered the Cabinet Minister; "and most detrimental to anything in the shape of a forward policy. Besides, if it were not for that dark staircase, what should we leaders do with the private members who have private opinions? We should have to dissemble our love so far as to kick them downstairs; and that also would be unconstitutional."