"My dear sir, you don't imagine that I thought of incorporating my philosophy in an electioneering address? Of course one must use common sense in these matters. Practical lessons come before theory. If I stand for Hollingford—" he rolled the words, and savoured them—"I shall do so as a very practical politician indeed. My philosophical creed will of course influence me, and I shall lose no opportunity of propagating it: but have no fear of my expounding bio-sociology to Hollingford shopkeepers and artisans."
Breakspeare echoed the speaker's mirth, and they talked on about the practical aspects of the next election in the borough.
Meanwhile, Lady Ogram had sat in her great chair, dozing. Constance, accustomed to this, read for half an hour, or let her thoughts wander. At length overcoming her drowsiness, the old lady fixed a curious gaze upon Miss Bride, a gaze of benevolent meditation.
"We shall have several letters to write to-morrow morning," she said presently.
"Political letters?" asked Constance.
"Yes. By the bye, do you know anything about Lord Dymchurch?"
"Nothing at all."
"Then find out about him as soon as possible.—What are Mr. Lashmar's means?"
"I really can't tell you," answered Constance, slightly confused by the unexpected question. "I believe his father is very well-to-do; I have heard him spoken of as a man of private fortune."
"Then our friend is independent—or at all events not pinched. So much the better."