Gatherum—January, 18—.
My dear Mr. Lopez,
I remember that you said that you would be home at this time, and therefore I write to you about the borough. Things are changed since you went away, and, I fear, not changed for your advantage.
We understand that Mr. Grey will apply for the Chiltern Hundreds at the end of March, and that the election will take place in April. No candidate will appear as favoured from hence. We used to run a favourite, and our favourite would sometimes win—would sometimes even have a walk over; but those good times are gone. All the good times are going, I think. There is no reason that I know why you should not stand as well as anyone else. You can be early in the field;—because it is only now known that there will be no Gatherum interest. And I fancy it has already leaked out that you would have been the favourite if there had been a favourite;—which might be beneficial.
I need hardly say that I do not wish my name to be mentioned in the matter.
“I don’t understand much about it,” said Emily.
“I dare say not. It is not meant that any novice should understand much about it. Of course you will not mention her Grace’s letter.”
“Certainly not.”
“She intends to do the very best she can for me. I have no doubt that some understrapper from the Castle has had some communication with Mr. Sprugeon. The fact is that the Duke won’t be seen in it, but that the Duchess does not mean that the borough shall quite slip through their fingers.”
“Shall you try it?”
“If I do I must send an agent down to see Mr. Sprugeon on the sly, and the sooner I do so the better. I wonder what your father will say about it?”
“He is an old Conservative.”
“But would he not like his son-in-law to be in Parliament?”
“I don’t know that he would care about it very much. He seems always to laugh at people who want to get into Parliament. But if you have set your heart upon it, Ferdinand—”
“I have not set my heart on spending a great deal of money. When I first thought of Silverbridge the expense would have been almost nothing. It would have been a walk over, as the Duchess calls it. But now there will certainly be a contest.”
“Give it up if you cannot afford it.”
“Nothing venture nothing have. You don’t think your father would help me in doing it? It would add almost as much to your position as to mine.” Emily shook her head. She had always heard her father ridicule the folly of men who spent more than they could afford in the vanity of writing two letters after their name, and she now explained that it had always been so with him. “You would not mind asking him,” he said.
“I will ask him if you wish it, certainly.” Ever since their marriage he had been teaching her—intentionally teaching her—that it would be the duty of both of them to get all they could from her father. She had learned the lesson, but it had been very distasteful to her. It had not induced her to think ill of her husband. She was too much engrossed with him, too much in love with him for that. But she was beginning to feel that the world in general was hard and greedy and uncomfortable. If it was proper that a father should give his daughter money when she was married, why did not her father do so without waiting to be asked? And yet, if he were unwilling to do so, would it not be better to leave him to his pleasure in the matter? But now she began to perceive that her father was to be regarded as a milch cow, and that she was to be the dairymaid. Her husband at times would become terribly anxious on the subject. On receiving the promise of £3,000 he had been elated, but since that he had continually talked of what more her father ought to do for them.
“Perhaps I had better take the bull by the horns,” he said, “and do it myself. Then I shall find out whether he really has our interest at heart, or whether he looks on you as a stranger because you’ve gone away from him.”
“I don’t think he will look upon me as a stranger.”
“We’ll see,” said Lopez.
It was not long before he made the experiment. He had called himself a coward as to the opening of the Duchess’s letter, but he had in truth always courage for perils of this nature. On the day of their arrival they dined with Mr. Wharton in Manchester Square, and certainly the old man had received his daughter with great delight. He had been courteous also to Lopez, and Emily, amidst the pleasure of his welcome, had forgotten some of her troubles. The three were alone together, and when Emily had asked after her brother, Mr. Wharton had laughed and said that Everett was an ass. “You have not quarrelled with him?” she said. He ridiculed the idea of any quarrel, but again said that Everett was an ass.
After dinner Mr. Wharton and Lopez were left together, as the old man, whether alone or in company, always sat for an hour sipping port wine after the manner of his forefathers. Lopez had already determined that he would not let the opportunity escape him, and began his attack at once. “I have been invited, sir,” he said with his sweetest smile, “to stand for Silverbridge.”
“You too!” said Mr. Wharton. But, though there was a certain amount of satire in the exclamation, it had been good-humoured satire.
“Yes, sir. We all get bit sooner or later, I suppose.”
“I never was bit.”
“Your sagacity and philosophy have been the wonder of the world, sir.
