, their minds are half-baked, and their
bodies half-developed. I feel a terrible pity, but all the same I
cannot touch them. And then I become a coward and dare not face them
and talk straight as man to man. I repeat my platitudes to the ceiling,
and they go away thinking, and thinking rightly, that I am a fool."

Wratislaw looked worried. "That is one of my complaints. The other is
that on certain occasions you cannot hold yourself in check. Do you
know you have been blackguarded in the papers lately, and that there is
a violent article against you in the Critic, and all on account of some
unwise utterances?"

Lewis flushed deeply. "That is the worst thing I have done, and I feel
horribly penitent. It was the act of a cad and a silly schoolboy. But
I had some provocation, Tommy. I had spoken at length amid many
interruptions, and I was getting cross. It was at Gledfoot, and the
meeting was entirely against me. Then a man got up to tackle me, not a
native, but some wretched London agitator. As I looked at him--a little
chap With fiery eyes and receding brow--and heard his cockney patter, my
temper went utterly. I made a fool of him, and I abused the whole
assembly, and, funnily enough, I carried them with me. People say I
helped my cause immensely."

"It is possible," said Wratislaw dryly. "The Scot has a sense of humour
and has no objection to seeing his prophets put to shame. But you are
getting a nice reputation elsewhere. When I read some of your sayings,
I laughed of course, but I thought ruefully of your chances."

It was a penitent and desponding man who followed Wratislaw into the
snuggery at Etterick. But light and food, the gleam of silver and
vellum and the sweet fragrance of tobacco consoled him; for in most
matters he was half-hearted, and politics sat lightly on his affections.

II

To Alice the weeks of the contest were filled with dire unpleasantness.
Lewis, naturally, kept far from Glenavelin, while of Mr. Stocks she was
never free. She followed Lady Manorwater's lead and canvassed
vigorously, hoping to find distraction in the excitement of the fight.
But her efforts did not prosper. On one occasion she found herself in a
cottage on the Gledsmuir road, her hands filled with election
literature. A hale old man was sitting at his meal, who greeted her
cordially, and made her sit down while she stumbled through the usual
questions and exhortations. "Are ye no' bidin' at Glenavelin?" he
asked