"Poor beggar, to
have such stuff written about him!"--The fourth discussed the possible
retirement of Sir Robert Merkland, the member for Gledsmuir, and his
possible successor. Mr. Haystoun's name was mentioned, "though
indeed," said the wiseacre, "that gentleman has never shown any decided
leanings to practical politics. We understand that the seat will be
contested in the Radical interest by Mr. Albert Stocks, the well-known
writer and lecturer."

"You know everybody, John. Who's the fellow?" George asked.

"Oh, a very able man indeed, one of the best speakers we have. I should
like to see a fight between him and Lewie: they would not get on with
each other. This Stocks is a sort of living embodiment of the irritable
Radical conscience, a very good thing in its way, but not quite in
Lewie's style."

The fifth cutting mentioned the presence of Mr. Haystoun at three
garden-parties, and hinted the possibility of a mistress soon to be at
Etterick.

George lay back in his chair gasping. "I never thought it would come to
this. I always thought Lewie the least impressionable of men. I wonder
what sort of woman he has fallen in love with. But it may not be true."

"We'll pray that it isn't true. But I was never quite sure of him. You
know there was always an odd romantic strain in the man. The ordinary
smart, pretty girl, who adorns the end of a dinner-table and makes an
admirable mistress of a house, he would never think twice about. But
for all his sanity Lewie has many cranks, and a woman might get him on
that side."

"Don't talk of it. I can picture the horrid reality. He will marry
some thin-lipped creature who will back him in all his madness, and his
friends will have to bid him a reluctant farewell. Or, worse still,
there are scores of gushing, sentimental girls who might capture him. I
wish old Wratislaw were here to ask him what he thinks, for he knows
Lewie better than any of us. Is he a member here?"

"Oh yes, he is a member, but I don't think he comes much. You people
are too frivolous for him."

"Well, that is all the good done by subscribing to a news-cutting agency
for news of one's friends. I feel as low as ditch water. There is that
idiot who goes off to the ends of the earth for three years, and when he
comes back his friends get no good of him for the confounded women."
George echoed the ancient complaint which is doubtless old as David and
Jonathan.

Then these two desolated young men, in view