“Ah, if Hilt, if.”
“She would, or I don’t know her. I should like to see it come off, for there wouldn’t be a better matched pair in England. Go in and win.”
“Well, hang me if I don’t! I’ve been playing a shilly-shally waiting game, and now I’ll come to the point. But I say, what’s this about you in the papers—election news?”
“Oh, it’s the wife’s wish. She won’t rest till I have ‘M.P.’ at the end of my name.”
“Good thing too. You’re getting mossy here. Go into Parliament, and it will soon be rubbed off. The poor dear lady is spoiling you. Too much apron-string. She’s stopped your racing and hunting, but you must do something. Go in and win your seat.”
“I don’t care much about it.”
“More fool you! Think of the chances it will give you of a little life. The House—there you are; an excuse for everything not quite in running order with the ideas of such a lady as madam. Club? Best in London. Late hours? Sitting till two, three, four, or milk-time.”
“Yes; I never gave that a thought.”
“An excuse for everything, dear boy, and your wife proud of you. Oh, I should enter for those stakes, certainly. It will cost you something, though.”
“I suppose so; but, between ourselves, Lady Lisle has placed four thou’ to my account for election expenses.”