“Of course I am. I don’t say you ain’t an Englishman, but you are not quite enough of an Englishman to understand what Parliament is to us.”
“I hope to be—some of these days,” said Lopez.
“Perhaps you may. I won’t say but what you may get yourself educated to it when you’ve been married a dozen years to an English wife, and have half-a-dozen English children of your own. But, in the meantime, look at my position. I am twenty-eight years old.”
“I am four years your senior.”
“It does not matter a straw to you,” continued Everett. “But a few years are everything with me. I have a right to suppose that I may be able to represent the county—say in twenty years. I shall probably then be the head of the family and a rich man. Consider what a parliamentary education would be to me! And then it is just the life for which I have laid myself out, and in which I could make myself useful. You don’t sympathise with me, but you might understand me.”
“I do both. I think of going into the House myself.”
“You!”
“Yes; I do.”
“You must have changed your ideas very much then within the last month or two.”
“I have changed my ideas. My one chief object in life is, as you know, to marry your sister; and if I were a Member of Parliament I think that some difficulties would be cleared away.”
“But there won’t be an election for the next three years at any rate,” said Everett Wharton, staring at his friend. “You don’t mean to keep Emily waiting for a dissolution?”
“There are occasional vacancies,” said Lopez.
“Is there a chance of anything of that kind falling in your way?”
“I think there is. I can’t quite tell you all the particulars because other people are concerned, but I don’t think it improbable that I may be in the House before—; well, say in three months’ time.”
“In three months’ time!” exclaimed Everett, whose mouth was watering at the prospects of his friend. “That is what comes from going to stay with the Prime Minister, I suppose.” Lopez shrugged his shoulders. “Upon my word I can’t understand you,” continued the other. “It was only the other day you were arguing in this very room as to the absurdity of a parliamentary career—pitching into me, by George, like the very mischief, because I had said something in its favour—and now you are going in for it yourself in some sort of mysterious way that a fellow can’t understand.” It was quite clear that Everett Wharton thought himself ill-used by his friend’s success.
“There is no mystery;—only I can’t tell people’s names.”
“What is the borough?”
“I cannot tell you that at present.”
“Are you sure there will be a vacancy?”
“I think I am sure.”
“And that you will be invited to stand?”
“I am not sure of that.”
“Of course anybody can stand whether invited or not.”
“If I come forward for this place I shall do so on the very best interest. Don’t mention it. I tell you because I already regard my connection with you as being so close as to call upon me to tell you anything of that kind.”
“And yet you do not tell me the details.”
“I tell you all that I can in honour tell.”
Everett Wharton certainly felt aggrieved by his friend’s news, and plainly showed that he did so. It was so hard that if a stray seat in Parliament were going a-begging, it should be thrown in the way of this man who didn’t care for it, and couldn’t use it to any good purpose, instead of in his own way! Why should anyone want Ferdinand Lopez to be in Parliament? Ferdinand Lopez had paid no attention to the great political questions of the Commonwealth. He knew nothing of Labour and Capital, of Unions, Strikes, and Lockouts. But because he was rich, and, by being rich, had made his way among great people, he was to have a seat in Parliament! As for the wealth, it might be at his own command also—if only his father could be got to see the matter in a proper light. And as for the friendship of great people—Prime Ministers, Duchesses, and suchlike—Everett Wharton was quite confident that he was at any rate as well qualified to shine among them as Ferdinand Lopez. He was of too good a nature to be stirred to injustice against his friend by the soreness of this feeling. He did not wish to rob his friend of his wealth, of his Duchesses, or of his embryo seat in Parliament. But for the moment there came upon him a doubt whether Ferdinand was so very clever, or so peculiarly gentlemanlike or in any way very remarkable, and almost a conviction that he was very far from being good-looking.
They dined together, and quite late in the evening they strolled out into St. James’s Park. There was nobody in London, and there was nothing for either of them to do, and therefore they agreed to walk round the park, dark and gloomy as they knew the park would be. Lopez had seen and had quite understood the bitterness of spirit by which Everett had been oppressed, and with that peculiarly imperturbable good humour which made a part of his character bore it all, even with tenderness. He was a man, as are many of his race, who could bear contradictions, unjust suspicions, and social ill-treatment without a shadow of resentment, but who, if he had a purpose, could carry it out without a shadow of a scruple. Everett Wharton had on this occasion made himself very unpleasant, and Lopez had borne with him as an angel would hardly have done; but should Wharton ever stand in his friend’s way, his friend would sacrifice him without compunction. As it was, Lopez bore with him, simply noting in his own mind that Everett Wharton was a greater ass than he had taken him to be. It was Wharton’s idea that they should walk round
