had weight in the borough.

Eustace spent Christmas at Highmead, and made frequent calls at the
house of the ex-Mayor. On one of the occasions it happened that the
ladies were from home, but Mr. Mumbray, on the point of going out,
begged Glazzard to come and have a word with him in his sanctum. After
much roundabout talk, characteristically pompous, he put the question
whether Mr. Glazzard, as a friend of Mr. Denzil Quarrier, would "take
it ill" if he, Mr. Mumbray, accepted an invitation to come forward as
the candidate of the Conservative party.

"I hope you know me better," Glazzard replied. "I have nothing whatever
to do with politics."

The ex-Mayor smiled thoughtfully, and went on to explain, "in strictest
confidence," that there _was_ a prospect of that contingency befalling.

"Of course I couldn't hope for Mr. William's support."

He paused on a note of magnanimous renunciation.

"Oh, I don't know," said Glazzard, abstractedly. "My brother is hardly
to be called a Radical. I couldn't answer for the line he will take."

"Indeed? That is very interesting. Ha!"

Silence fell between them.

"I'm sure," remarked Mr. Mumbray, at length, "that my wife and daughter
will be very sorry to have missed your call. Undoubtedly you can count
on their being at home to-morrow."

The prediction was fulfilled, and before leaving the house Glazzard
made Serena a proposal of marriage. That morning there had occurred a
quarrel of more than usual bitterness between mother and daughter.
Serena was sick of her life at home, and felt a longing, at any cost,
for escape to a sphere of independence. The expected offer from
Glazzard came just at the right moment; she accepted it, and consented
that the marriage should be very soon.

But a few hours of reflection filled her with grave misgivings. She was
not in love with Glazzard; personally, he had never charmed her, and in
the progress of their acquaintance she had discovered many points of
his character which excited her alarm. Serena, after all, was but a
half-educated country girl; even in the whirlwind of rebellious moments
she felt afraid of the words that came to her lips. The impulses
towards emancipation which so grievously perturbed her were unjustified
by her conscience; at heart, she believed with Ivy Glazzard that woman
was a praying and subordinate creature; in her bedroom she recounted
the day's sins of thought and speech, and wept out her desire for
"conversion,"