attention of the servant to them. In the matter, at least, of the
little political comedy the son seems to have acted alone; but you
surely cannot rid yourself of the impression that the radical speeches,
the candidature, and the rest of it, formed all of them only a very
elaborate, and withal clumsy, set of preliminaries to the _class_.
Anything, to make the perspective, the sequence of _that_ seem natural.
But in the class, at any rate, we have the tacit acquiescence, or even
the cooperation of Lord Pharanx. You have described the conspiracy of
quiet which, for some reason or other, was imposed on the household; in
that reign of silence the bang of a door, the fall of a plate, becomes
a domestic tornado. But have you ever heard an agricultural labourer in
clogs or heavy boots ascend a stair? The noise is terrible. The tramp
of an army of them through the house and overhead, probably jabbering
uncouthly together, would be insufferable. Yet Lord Pharanx seems to
have made no objection; the novel institution is set up in his own
mansion, in an unusual part of it, probably against his own principles;
but we hear of no murmur from him. On the fatal day, too, the calm of
the house is rudely broken by a considerable commotion in Randolph's
room just overhead, caused by his preparation for "a journey to
London." But the usual angry remonstrance is not forthcoming from the
master. And do you not see how all this more than acquiescence of Lord
Pharanx in the conduct of his son deprives that conduct of half its
significance, its intrinsic suspiciousness?

'A hasty reasoner then would inevitably jump to the conclusion that
Randolph was guilty of something--some evil intention--though of
precisely what he would remain in doubt. But a more careful reasoner
would pause: he would reflect that _as_ the father was implicated in
those acts, and _as_ he was innocent of any such intention, so might
possibly, even probably, be the son. This, I take it, has been the view