s of Kingsbury had indulged
his peculiar taste in regard to Liberalism, and was at the same time
held not to have derogated from his rank. She had been a woman of
great beauty and of many intellectual gifts,--thoroughly imbued with
her father's views, but altogether free from feminine pedantry and
that ambition which begrudges to men the rewards of male labour. Had
she lived, Lady Frances might probably not have fallen in with the
Post Office clerk; nevertheless, had she lived, she would have known
the Post Office clerk to be a worthy gentleman.

But she had died when her son was about sixteen and her daughter no
more than fifteen. Two years afterwards our Marquis had gone among
the dukes, and had found for himself another wife. Perhaps the
freshness and edge of his political convictions had been blunted by
that gradual sinking down among the great peers in general which was
natural to his advanced years. A man who has spouted at twenty-five
becomes tired of spouting at fifty, if nothing special has come from
his spouting. He had been glad when he married Lady Clara Mountressor
to think that circumstances as they had occurred at the last election
would not make it necessary for him to deliver up the borough to the
tailor on any further occasion. The tailor had been drunk at the
hustings, and he ventured to hope that before six months were over
Lord Hampstead would have so far rectified his frontiers as to be
able to take a seat in the House of Commons.

Then very quickly there were born three little flaxen-haired
boys,--who became at least flaxen-haired as they emerged from their
cradles,--Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory. That they
must be brought up with ideas becoming the scions of a noble House
there could be no doubt. Their mother was every inch a duke's
daughter. But, alas, not one of them was likely to become Marquis
of Kingsbury. Though born so absolutely in the purple they were but
younger sons. This was a silent sorrow;--but when their half sister
Lady Frances told their mother openly that she had plighted her troth
to the Post Office clerk, that was a sorrow which did not admit of
silence.

When Lord Hampstead had asked permission to bring his friend to the
house there seemed to be no valid reason for refusing him. Low as he
had descended amidst the depths of disreputable opinion, it was not
supposed that even he would countenance anything so horrible as this.
And was there not ground for se