“It’s exactly what I should have expected,” said Hesketh, when she told him. “Murchison is the very man they want. He’s cut out for a political success. I saw that when he was in England.”
“You haven’t been very long in the country, Mr Hesketh, or we shouldn’t hear you saying that,” said Mr Milburn, amicably. “It’s a very remarkable thing with us, a political party putting forward so young a man. Now with you I expect a young fellow might get in on his rank or his wealth—your principle of nonpayment of members confines your selection more or less. I don’t say you’re not right, but over here we do pay, you see, and it makes a lot of difference in the competition. It isn’t a greater honour, but it’s more sought for. I expect there’ll be a good many sore heads over this business.”
“It’s all the more creditable to Murchison,” said Hesketh.
“Of course it is—a great feather in his cap. Oh, I don’t say young Murchison isn’t a rising fellow, but it’s foolishness for his party—I can’t think who is responsible for it. However, they’ve got a pretty foolish platform just now—they couldn’t win this seat on it with any man. A lesson will be good for them.”
“Father, don’t you think Lorne will get in?” asked Dora, in a tone of injury and slight resentment.
“Not by a handful,” said her father. “Mr Walter Winter will represent South Fox in the next session of Parliament, if you ask my opinion.”
“But, Father,” returned his daughter with an outraged inflection, “you’ll vote for Lorne?”
A smile went round the table, discreetest in Mrs Milburn.
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr Milburn, “I’m afraid not. Sorry to disoblige, but principles are principles.”
Dora perceptibly pouted. Mrs Milburn created a diversion with green-gage preserves. Under cover of it Hesketh asked, “Is he a great friend of yours?”