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.
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