Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [113]
And then the ladies retired. His aunt, with a good-natured smile on her face, came to him as she was leaving the room, the last of the bevy, and putting her hand on his arm, led him out into a small unoccupied chamber which opened from the grand saloon.
‘Upon my word, Master Frank,’ said she, ‘you seem to be losing no time with the heiress. You have quite made an impression already.’
‘I don’t know much about that, aunt,’ said he, looking rather sheepish.
‘Oh, I declare you have; but, Frank, my dear boy, you should not precipitate these sort of things too much. It is well to take a little more time: it is more valued; and perhaps, you know, on the whole –’
Perhaps Frank might know; but it was clear that Lady de Courcy did not: at any rate, she did not know how to express herself. Had she said out her mind plainly, she would probably have spoken thus: ‘I want you to make love to Miss Dunstable, certainly; or at any rate to make an offer to her; but you need not make a show of yourself and of her, too, by doing it so openly as all that.’ The countess, however, did not want to reprimand her obedient nephew, and therefore did not speak out her thoughts.
‘Well?‘ said Frank, looking up into her face.
‘Take a leetle more time – that is all, my dear boy; slow and sure, you know’; so the countess again patted his arm and went away to bed.
‘Old fool!’ muttered Frank to himself, as he returned to the room where the men were still standing. He was right in this: she was an old fool, or she would have seen that there was no chance whatever that her nephew and Miss Dunstable should become man and wife.
‘Well, Frank,’ said the Honourable John; ‘so you’re after the heiress already.’
‘He won’t give any of us a chance,’ said the Honourable George. ‘If he goes on in that way she’ll be Mrs Gresham before a month is over. But, Frank, what will she say of your manner of looking for Barchester votes?’
‘Mr Gresham is certainly an excellent hand at canvassing,’ said Mr Nearthewinde; ‘only a little too open in his manner of proceeding.’
‘I got that chorister for you at any rate,’ said Frank. ‘And you would never have had him without me.’
‘I don’t think half so much of the chorister’s vote as that of Miss Dunstable,’ said the Honourable George: ‘that’s the interest that is really worth the looking after.’
‘But, surely,’ said Mr Moffat, ‘Miss Dunstable has no property in Barchester?’ Poor man! his heart was so intent on his election that he had not a moment to devote to the claims of love.
CHAPTER XVII
The Election
AND now the important day of the election had arrived, and some men’s hearts beat quickly enough. To be or not to be a member of the British Parliament is a question of very considerable moment in a man’s mind. Much is often said of the great penalties which the ambitious pay for enjoying this honour; of the tremendous expenses of elections; of the long, tedious hours of unpaid labour; of the weary days passed in the House; but, nevertheless, the prize is one very well worth the price paid for it – well worth any price that can be paid for it short of wading through dirt and dishonour.
No other great European nation has anything like it to offer to the ambition of its citizens; for in no other great country of Europe, not even in those which are free, has the popular constitution obtained, as with us, true sovereignty and power of rule. Here it is so; and when a man lays himself out to be a member of Parliament, he plays the highest game and for the highest stakes which the country affords.
To some men, born silver-spooned, a seat in Parliament comes as a matter of course. From the time of their early