give up such things; yet, when I recollect the difficulty
of carrying an election right at Stoneborough, I think papa would be
very sorry. I don't think his interest would bring in any sound man but
his son-in-law; and George himself seems to like his parliamentary life
better than anything else."

"Yes," said Flora hesitatingly; for she knew it was true--he liked to
think himself important, and it gave him something to think of, and
regular occupation--not too active or onerous; but she could not tell
Ethel what she herself felt; that all she could do for him could not
prevent him from being held cheap by the men among whom she had placed
him.

"Then," said Ethel, as she heard her affirmative, "I don't think it is
for his dignity, for you to put him into Parliament to please you and
then take him out to please you."

"I'll take care of his dignity," said Flora shortly.

"I know you would do it well--"

"I am sick of doing things well!" said poor Flora. "You little know how
I dread reading up all I must read presently! I shall lose all I have
scarcely gained. I cannot find peace any way, but by throwing down the
load I gave my peace for."

"Whether this is truth or fancy," said Ethel thoughtfully. "If you would
ask some one competent."

"Don't you know there are some things one cannot ask?" said Flora. "I
don't know why I spoke to you! Ah! come in! Why, George, that is a finer
egg than ever," as he entered with a Shanghai egg in each hand, for her
to mark with the date when it had been laid. Poultry was a new hobby,
and Ethel had been hearing, in her tete-a-tete dinners with George,
a great deal about the perfections of the hideous monsters that
had obtained fabulous prices. They had been the best resource for
conversation; but she watched, with something between vexation and
softness, how Flora roused herself to give her full attention and
interest to his prosing about his pets, really pleased as it seemed;
and, at last, encouraging him actually to fetch his favourite cock to
show her; when she went through the points of perfection of the ungainly
mass of feathers, and did not at all allow Ethel to laugh at the
unearthly sounds of disapproval which handling elicited.

"And this is our senator!" thought Ethel. "I wonder whether Honorius's
hen was a Shanghai! Poor Flora is right--it is poor work to make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear! but, putting him into the place is one thing,
taking him out another. I wish