“Yes.”
He thought of the most obvious proposition, and he spoke in pursuance of his thought. “Then forgive me if I speak plainly,” he said. “Whether the borough lose one member or both, whether it figure in schedule B, or in schedule A, cannot affect my opposition to the Bill! If you have it in commission, therefore, to make any proposal, based on a contrary notion, I cannot listen even to your ladyship.”
“I have not,” she answered with a smile. “Sir Robert Vermuyden’s malignancy is too well known. Yet I am the bearer of a proposition. Suppose the Bill to become law, and I am told that it will surely become law, can we not avoid future conflict, and—I will not say future ill-will, for God knows there is none on our side, Sir Robert—but future friction, by an agreement? Of course it will not be possible to nominate members in the future as in the past. But for some time to come whoever is returned for Chippinge must be returned by your influence, or by my lord’s.”
He coughed drily. “Possibly,” he said.
“In view of that,” she continued, flirting her fan, as she watched his face—his manner was not encouraging, “and for the sake of peace between families, and a little, perhaps, because I do not wish Kerry to be beggared by contested elections, can we not now, while the future is on the lap of the gods——”
“In Committee,” Sir Robert corrected with a grave bow.
She laughed pleasantly. “Well,” she allowed, “perhaps it is not quite the same thing. But no matter! Whoever the Fates in charge, can we not,” with her head on one side and a charming smile, “make a treaty of peace?”
“And what,” Sir Robert asked with urbane sarcasm, “becomes of the rights of the people in that case, Lady Lansdowne? And of the purity of elections? And of the new and independent electors whom my lord has brought into being? Must we not think of these things?”
She looked for an instant rather foolish. Then she rallied, and with a slightly heightened colour, “In good time, we must,” she replied. “But for the present it is plain that they will not be able to walk without assistance.”
“What?” it was on the tip of his tongue to answer. “The new and independent electors? Not walk without assistance? Oh, what a change is here!” But he forbore. He said instead—but with the faintest shade of irony, “Without our assistance, I think you mean, Lady Lansdowne?”