be my London agent, having Mr. Teesdale,
whom you know, as his lieutenant, on the
spot."

"You speak of 'my party,' and 'my
agent,' as though you had fully made up
your mind to go in for the election. Is it
so?"

"I had promised to do so," said Mr.
Cresweil, again with the old-fashioned bow,
"before you did me the honour to accept
the position which you so worthily fill; and
I fear, even had you objected, that I should
scarcely have been able to retract. But
when I mentioned it to you, you said
nothing to lead me to believe that you did
object."

"Nor do I in the very smallest degree.
On the contrary, I think it most advisable
and most important. What are your
chances of success?"

"Well, on the whole, good; though it
struck me that our friends who have just
gone were a little too sanguine, and at
least, so far as Mr. Croke was concerned—
a little too much disposed to underrate the
strength of the enemy."

"The enemy? Ah!—I forgot. Who is
our opponent?" Mr. Creswell heard the
change in the pronoun, and was delighted.

"A certain young Mr. Bokenham, son of
an old friend and contemporary of mine,
who was launched in life about the same
time that I was, and seemed to progress
step by step with me. I am the younger
man by some years, I believe; but,"
continued the old gentleman, with an odd,
half-sheepish look, "it seems curious to
find myself running a tilt with Tommy
Bokenham, who was not born when I was
a grown man!"

"The position is one with which age has
very little to do," said Marian, with a
slight hardening of her voice. "No, if
anything, I should imagine that a man of
experience and knowledge of the world had a
better chance than a young and necessarily
unformed man, such as Mr. Bokenham.
You say that your friends seemed confident?"

"A little too confident. Old Croke is a
Tory to the backbone, and will not believe
in the possibility of a Liberal being returned
for the borough; and Mr. Gould seems to
depend very much on the local reports
which he has had from men of the Croke
stamp, and which are all of the most roseate
hue."

"Over-certainty is the almost infallible
precursor of failure. And we must not fail
in this matter. Don't you think you yourself
had better look into it more closely
than you have done?"

"My darling one, you give me an interest
in the matter which previously it never
possessed to me! I will turn my attention to
it at once, go into the details as a matter
of business, and take care that, if winning
is possible, we shall win. No trouble or
expense shall be spared about it, child, you
may depend; though what has given you
this sudden start I cannot imagine. I
should have thought that the ambition of
being a member's wife was one which had
never entered your head."

"My head is always ready to serve as a
receptacle for schemes for my husband's
advancement, whether they be of my own,
or his, or other people's prompting," said
Marian, demurely. And the old gentleman
bent over her again, and kissed her on the
forehead.

What was this sudden interest in these
election proceedings on Marian's part, and
whence did it arise? Was it mere verbiage,
pleasant talk to flatter her husband, showing
feigned excitement about his prospects
to hide the real carelessness and insouciance
which she could not choose but feel? Was
she tired of his perpetual presence in waiting
upon her, and did she long to be rid of
her patient slave, untiring both in eye and
ear in attention to her wants, almost before
they were expressed? There are many
women who weary very speedily of suit
and service perpetually paid them, who
sicken of compliments and attentions, as
the pastry-cooks' boys are said to do,
after the unrestricted gratification of their
tart-appetites, in the early days of their
apprenticeship. Did she talk at random
with the mere idea of making things
pleasant to her husband, and with the
knowledge that the mere fact of any
expression of interest on her part in any
action of his would be more than
appreciated? Not one whit. Marian never
talked at random, and knew her power
sufficiently to be aware that there was no
need for the expression of any forced feeling
where Mr. Creswell was concerned.
The fact was—and it was not the first time
she had acknowledged it to herself, though
she had never before seen her way clearly
to effect any alteration—the fact was that
she was bored out of her life. The golden
apples of the Hesperides, gained after so
much trouble, so much lulling of the dragon
of conscience, had a smack of the Dead Sea
fruit in them, after all! The money had
been obtained, and the position had been