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am shocked； for the credit of Englishmen； to be constrained to
inform you that the Party has not triumphed without being put to
an enormous expense。 Hundreds；” says Sir Leicester； eyeing the
cousins with increasing dignity and swelling indignation；
“Hundreds of thousands of pounds！”
If Volumnia have a fault； it is the fault of being a trifle too
innocent； seeing that the innocence which would go extremely
well with a sash and tucker； is a little out of keeping with the rouge
and pearl necklace。 Howbeit； impelled by innocence； she asks；
“What for？”
“Volumnia；” remonstrates Sir Leicester； with his utmost
severity。 “Volumnia！”
“No； no； I don’t mean what for；” cries Volumnia with her
favourite little scream。 “How stupid I am！ I mean what a pity！”
“I am glad；” returns Sir Leicester； “that you do mean what a
pity。”
Volumnia hastens to express her opinion that the shocking
people ought to be tried as traitors； and made to support the Party。
“I am glad； Volumnia；” repeats Sir Leicester； unmindful of
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these mollifying sentiments； “that you do mean what a pity。 It is
disgraceful to the electors。 But as you； though inadvertently； and
without intending so unreasonable a question； asked me ‘what
for？’ let me reply to you。 For necessary expenses。 And I trust to
your good sense； Volumnia； not to pursue the subject； here or
elsewhere。”
Sir Leicester feels it incumbent on him to observe a crushing
aspects towards Volumnia； because it is whispered abroad that
these necessary expenses will； in some two hundred election
petitions； be unpleasantly connected with the word bribery； and
because some graceless jokers have consequently suggested the
omission from the Church service of the ordinary supplication in
behalf of the High Court of Parliament； and have recommended
instead that the prayers of the congregation be requested for six
hundred and fifty…eight gentlemen in a very unhealthy state。
“I suppose；” observes Volumnia； having taken a little time to
recover her spirits after her late castigation； “I suppose Mr
Tulkinghorn has been worked to death。”
“I don’t know；” says Sir Leicester； opening his eyes； “why Mr
Tulkinghorn should be worked to death。 I don’t know what Mr
Tulkinghorn’s engagements may be。 He is not a candidate。”
Volumnia had thought he might have been employed。 Sir
Leicester could desire to know by whom； and what for？ Volumnia；
abashed again； suggests； by Somebody—to advise and make
arrangements。 Sir Leicester is not aware that any client of Mr
Tulkinghorn has been in need of his assistance。
Lady Dedlock seated at an open window with her arm upon its
cushioned ledge and looking out at the evening shadows falling on
the park； has seemed to attend since the lawyer’s name was
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mentioned。
A languid cousin with a moustache； in a state of extreme
debility； now observes from his couch； that—man told him
ya’as’dy that Tulkinghorn had gone down to t’ that iron place t’
give legal ’pinion ’bout something； and that； contest being over t’
day； ’twould be highly jawlly thing if Tulkinghorn should pear
with news that Coodle man was floored。
Mercury in attendance with coffee informs Sir Leicester；
hereupon； that Mr Tulkinghorn has arrived； and is taking dinner。
My Lady turns her head inward； for the moment； then looks out
again as before。
Volumnia is charmed to hear that her Delight is come。 He is so
original； such a stolid creature； such an immense being for
knowing all sorts of things and never telling them！ Volumnia is
persuaded that he must be a Freemason。 Is sure he is at the head
of a lodge； and wears short aprons； and is made a perfect Idol of；
with candlesticks and trowels。 These lively remarks the fair
Dedlock delivers in her youthful manner； while making a purse。
“He has not been here once；” she adds； “since I came。 I really
had some thoughts of breaking my heart for the inconstant
creature。 I had almost made up my mind that he was dead。”
It may be the gathering gloom of evening； or it may be the
darker gloom within herself； but a shade is on my Lady’s face； as if
she thought； “I would he were！”
“Mr Tulkinghorn；” says Sir Leicester； “is always welcome here；
and always discreet wheresoever he is。 A very valuable person；
and deservedly respected。”
The debilitated cousin supposes he is “’normously rich fler。”
“He has a stake in the country；” says Sir Leicester； “I have no
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doubt。 He is； of course； handsomely paid； and he associates almost
on a footing of equality with the highest society。”
Everybody starts。 For a gun is fired close by。
“Good gracious； what’s that？” cries Volumnia with her little
withered scream。
“A rat；” says my Lady。 “And they have shot him。”
Enter Mr Tulkinghorn； followed by Mercuries with lamps and
candles。
“No； no；” says Sir Leicester； “I think not。 My Lady； do you
object to the twilight？”
On the contrary； my Lady prefers it。
“Volumnia？”
O！ nothing is so delicious to Volumnia； as to sit and talk in the
dark。
“Then take them away；” says Sir Leicester。 “Tulkinghorn； I beg
your pardon。 How do you do？”
Mr Tulkinghorn with his usual leisurely ease advances； renders
his passing homage to my Lady； shakes Sir Leicester’s hand； and
subsides into the chair proper to him when he has anything to
communicate； on the opposite side of the Baronet’s little
newspaper table。 Sir Leicester is apprehensive that my Lady； not
being very well； will take cold at that open window。 My Lady is
obliged to him； but would rather sit there for the air。 Sir Leicester
rises； adjusts her scarf about her； and returns to his seat。 Mr
Tulkinghorn in the meanwhile takes a pinch of snuff。
“Now；” says Sir Leicester。 “How has that contest gone？”
“Oh； hollow from the beginning。 Not a chance。 They have
brought in both their people。 You are beaten out of all reason。
Three to one。”
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