Colonel Halkettt interposed: “But Ferbrass is quite sure of his district.”
Cecilia wished to know who the man was, of the mediaevally sounding name.
“Ferbrass is an old lawyer, my dear. He comes of five generations of lawyers, and he’s as old in the county as Grancey Lespel. Hitherto he has always been to be counted on for marching his district to the poll like a regiment. That’s our strength—the professions, especially lawyers.”
“Are not a great many lawyers Liberals, papa?”
“A great many barristers are, my dear.”
Thereat the colonel and Mr. Austin smiled together.
It was a new idea to Cecilia that Nevil Beauchamp should be considered by a man of the world anything but a well-meaning, moderately ridiculous young candidate; and the fact that one so experienced as Seymour Austin deemed him an adversary to be grappled with in earnest, created a small revolution in her mind, entirely altering her view of the probable pliability of his Radicalism under pressure of time and circumstances. Many of his remarks, that she had previously half smiled at, came across her memory hard as metal. She began to feel some terror of him, and said, to reassure herself: “Captain Beauchamp is not likely to be a champion with a very large following. He is too much of a political mystic, I think.”
“Many young men are, before they have written out a fair copy of their meaning,” said Mr. Austin.
Cecilia laughed to herself at the vision of the fiery Nevil engaged in writing out a fair copy of his meaning. How many erasures! what foot-notes!
The arrangement was for Cecilia to proceed to Itchincope alone for a couple of days, and bring a party to Mount Laurels through Bevisham by the yacht on Thursday, to meet Mr. Seymour Austin and Mr. Everard Romfrey. An early day of the next week had been agreed on for the unmasking of the second Tory candidate. She promised that in case Nevil Beauchamp should have the hardihood to enter the enemy’s nest at Itchincope on Wednesday, at the great dinner and ball there, she would do her best to bring him back to Mount Laurels, that he might meet his uncle Everard, who was expected there. At least he may consent to come for an evening,” she said. “Nothing will take him from that canvassing. It seems to me it must be not merely distasteful...?”