perceived, and knew that she could lose nothing by
an immediate request.

"Mr. Tappitt," said she, "I have come canvassing. The fact is this:
Mr. Cornbury says you are a liberal, and that therefore he has not
the face to ask you. I tell him that I think you would rather support
a neighbour from the county, even though there may be a shade of
difference in politics between you, than a stranger, whose trade and
religion cannot possibly recommend him, and whose politics, if you
really knew them, would probably be quite as much unlike your own as
are my husband's."

The little speech had been prepared beforehand, but was brought out
quite as naturally as though Mrs. Cornbury had been accustomed to
speak on her legs for a quarter of a century.

Mr. Tappitt grunted. The attack came upon him so much by surprise
that he knew not what else to do but to grunt. If Mr. Cornbury had
come with the same speech in his mouth, and could then have sided off
into some general abuse of Luke Rowan, the vote would have been won.

"I'm sure Mrs. Tappitt will agree with me," said Mrs. Cornbury,
smiling very sweetly upon the foe she had so lately vanquished.

"Women don't know anything about it," said Tappitt, meaning to snub
no one but his own wife, and forgetting that Mrs. Cornbury was a
woman. He blushed fiery red when the thought flashed upon him, and
wished that his own drawing-room floor would open and receive him;
nevertheless he was often afterwards heard to boast how he had put
down the politician in petticoats when she came electioneering to the
brewery.

"Well, that is severe," said Mrs. Cornbury, laughing.

"Oh, T.! you shouldn't have said that before Mrs. Cornbury!"

"I only meant my own wife, ma'am; I didn't indeed."

"I'll forgive your satire if you'll give me your vote," said Mrs.
Cornbury, with her sweetest smile. "He owes it me now; doesn't he,
Mrs. Tappitt?"

"Well,--I really think he do." Mrs. Tappitt, in her double
trouble,--in her own defeat and her shame on behalf of her
husband's rudeness,--was driven back, out of all her latter-day
conventionalities, into the thoughts and even into the language of
old days. She was becoming afraid of Mrs. Cornbury, and submissive,
as of old, to the rank and station of Cornbury Grange. In her terror
she was becoming a little forgetful of niceties learned somewhat late
in life. "I really think he do," said Mrs. Tappitt.

Tappitt grunted again.

"It's a very serious thing,"