“I see.”
“If a man in that position puts self, consistency, reputation all behind him—believe me, he is doing a fine thing.”
Basset assented. “But you speak,” he added, “as if Sir Robert were going to do the thing himself—instead of merely standing aside for others to do it.”
“A distinction without much difference,” the other rejoined. “Possibly it will turn out that he is the only man who can do it. If so, he will have a hard row to hoe. He will need the help of every moderate man in the country, if he is not to be beaten. For whether he succeeds or fails, depends not upon the fanatics, but upon the moderate men. I don’t know what your opinions are?”
“Well,” Basset said frankly, “I am not much of a party-man myself. I am inclined to agree with you, so far.”
“Then if you have any influence, use it. Unfortunately, I am out of it for family reasons.”
Basset looked at the stranger. “You are not by any chance Colonel Mottisfont?” he said.
“I am. You know my brother? He is member for Riddsley.”
“Yes. My name is Basset.”
“Of Blore? Indeed. I knew your father. Well, I have not cast my seed on stony ground. Though you are stony enough about Wootton under Weaver.”