‘In a sense, isn’t that in his favour?’
‘I don’t see how you make that out. I—I don’t mind telling you that I—I’ve had inquiries made. He’s not been in the House six years—this is his second Parliament—he’s jumped up like a Jack-in-the-box. His first constituency was Harwich—they’ve got him still, and much good may he do ’em!—but how he came to stand for the place,—or who, or what, or where he was before he stood for the place, no one seems to have the faintest notion.’
‘Hasn’t he been a great traveller?’
‘I never heard of it.’
‘Not in the East?’
‘Has he told you so?’
‘No,—I was only wondering. Well, it seems to me that to find out that nothing is known against him is something in his favour!’
‘My dear Sydney, don’t talk nonsense. What it proves is simply,—that he’s a nothing and a nobody. Had he been anything or anyone, something would have been known about him, either for or against. I don’t want my daughter to marry a man who—who—who’s shot up through a trap, simply because nothing is known against him. Ha-hang me, if I wouldn’t ten times sooner she should marry you.’
When he said that, my heart leaped in my bosom. I had to turn away.
‘I am afraid that is out of the question.’