r friend and rival better informed than herself.

"There is no chance of a division to-night," said Lady Deloraine.

"That is settled," said Lady St Julians. "Adieu, my dear friend. We
meet, I believe, at dinner?"

"Plotting," said Mr Egerton to Mr Berners, as they passed the great
ladies.

"The only consolation one has," said Berners, "is, that if they do turn
us out, Lady Deloraine and Lady St Julians must quarrel, for they both
want the same thing."

"Lady Deloraine will have it," said Egerton.

Here they picked up Mr Jermyn, a young tory M.P., who perhaps the reader
may remember at Mowbray Castle; and they walked on together, Egerton and
Berners trying to pump him as to the expectations of his friends.

"How will Trodgits go?" said Egerton.

"I think Trodgits will stay away," said Jermyn.

"Who do you give that new man to--that north-country borough
fellow;--what's his name?" said Berners.

"Blugsby! Oh, Blugsby dined with Peel," said Jermyn.

"Our fellows say dinners are no good," said Egerton; "and they certainly
are a cursed bore: but you may depend upon it they do for the burgesses.
We don't dine our men half enough. Now Blugsby was just the sort of
fellow to be caught by dining with Peel: and I dare say they made Peel
remember to take wine with him. We got Melbourne to give a grand feed
the other day to some of our men who want attention they say, and he
did not take wine with a single guest. He forgot. I wonder what they are
doing at the House! Here's Spencer May, he will tell us. Well, what is
going on?"

"WISHY is up, and WASHY follows."

"No division, of course?"

"Not a chance; a regular covey ready on both sides."

Book 4 Chapter 2

On the morning of the same day that Mr Egerton and his friend Mr Berners
walked down together to the House of Commons, as appears in our last
chapter, Egremont had made a visit to his mother, who had married since
the commencement of this history the Marquis of Deloraine, a great noble
who had always been her admirer. The family had been established by a
lawyer, and recently in our history. The present Lord Deloraine, though
he was gartered and had been a viceroy, was only the grandson of an
attorney, but one who, conscious of his powers, had been called to the
bar and died an ex-chancellor. A certain talent was hereditary in the
family. The attorney's son had been a successful courtier, and had
planted himself in the cabinet for a quarter of a ce