"We shall all be glad to sign your nomination paper," affirmed George Catesby.
"Well, Lord Frederick," said my intrepid Mrs. Josiah, "I will just bet you a box of gloves anyway that you don't get in."
"And I'll bet you another," said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"He's not such a fool as to try," said the noble Master.
"Frederick," said the Great Lady, "stick to your muttons. You have plenty to do to raise breed and quality. Why not try a cross between the Welsh and the Southdown? At least I am convinced that in these days the House of Commons offers no career for a gentleman."
"I've a great mind to cut in and have a shot anyway," said the scion of the ducal house, with a mild confusion of metaphor. "I don't see why these Radical fellers——"
Whatever the speech was in its integrity, it was destined never to be completed. For at this precise moment the door was flung open in a dramatic manner, and a haggard man, wearing an overcoat and carrying his hat in his hand, broke in upon Mrs. Catesby's dinner party.