followed up his opening sentence, expressed himself "much flattered," and
thought he had escaped; but wherever he went through the crowd, Mr. Poole
contrived to follow him, and claim his notice by remarks on the affairs
of the day--the weather--the funds--the crops. At length Darrell
perceived, sitting aloof in a corner, an excellent man whom indeed it
surprised him to see in a London drawing-room, but who, many years ago,
when Darrell was canvassing the enlightened constituency of Ouzelford,
had been on a visit to the chairman of his committee--an influential
trader--and having connections in the town--and, being a very high
character, had done him good service in the canvass. Darrell rarely
forgot a face, and never a service. At any time he would have been glad
to see the worthy man once more, but at that time he was grateful indeed.

"Excuse me," he said bluntly to Mr. Poole, "but I see an old friend." He
moved on, and thick as the crowd had become, it made way, with respect as
to royalty for the distinguished orator. The buzz of admiration as he
passed--louder than in drawing-rooms more refined--would have had
sweeter music than Grisi's most artful quaver to a vainer man--nay, once
on a time to him. But--sugar plums come too late! He gained the corner,
and roused the solitary sitter.

"My dear Mr. Hartopp, do you not remember me--Guy Darrell?"

"Mr. Darrell!" cried the ex-mayor of Gatesboro', rising, "who could
think that you would remember me?"

"What! not remember those ten stubborn voters, on whom, all and singly,
I had lavished my powers of argu ment in vain? You came, and with the
brief words, 'John--Ned--Dick--oblige me-vote for Darrell!' the men were
convinced--the votes won. That's what I call eloquence"--(sotto voce-