On their way back they call at the lodge to see "little Miss Waif," as Gerald calls the child whom, a year ago, he found so strangely in the hedge bottom. It has never been claimed, and probably never will be now. Eleanor has had it christened after herself, and is very fond of it. Gerald, too, has a sneaking sort of liking for the child. He cannot forget that it was while he was holding it in his arms, and blushing to the roots of his hair, that he first saw Eleanor, and first spoke to her. Many a laugh have they had about that incident since their marriage. That the child's future will be carefully looked after we may safely assume.
When ten o'clock strikes, the juveniles troop off to supper, and Sir Thomas buttonholes Gerald, and takes him off to the smoking-room. There is something on his mind which he is evidently bursting to confide to Gerald.
"Look here, Pomeroy," he says--he can't forget the old familiar name--"I'm going to tell you something that I've not told to anybody, and that I wouldn't have her ladyship know just yet for the world. What do you think? I've made up my mind to resign my seat!"
"You do indeed surprise me!" says Gerald.
"I mention this to you because I think it would be a good chance for you to try to get into parliament yourself. You know, Pomeroy, I always said you were cut out for an M.P."
"You flatter me, Sir Thomas. All the same, I'm greatly obliged to you for honouring me with your confidence in this matter, although I shall not be able to do what you have so kindly suggested. My wife and I have made up our minds to travel for a couple of years before I settle down to anything."
"Ah, that's a pity now! because I could have given you such a lot of support."
"May I ask what your motives are for resigning your seat?"
"I've found out, Pomeroy, that it was never intended by Nature that I should write M.P. after my name. And then I hate London. I'm never either well in health or happy in mind when I'm there. Give me, instead, what my wife calls 'the dull pursuits of country life.' Though why she should call them dull, I can't for the life of me see. What can be more exciting, for instance, than a show of prize bullocks, or a good ploughing match? And where is there anything in all London half as pretty as a field of wheat on a midsummer morning, especially when the crop's a good one, and the field happens to be your own?"
"It will be a great disappointment to her ladyship."