"Pshaw!--let them attack you as they please!" said Chide, after they had
talked awhile. "You are safe enough. There is no one else. You are like
the hero in a novel, 'the indispensable.'"
Ferrier laughed.
"Don't be so sure. There is always a 'supplanter'--when the time is
ripe."
"Where is he? Who is he?"
"I had a very curious letter from Lord Philip this morning," said
Ferrier, thoughtfully.
Chide's expression changed.
Lord Philip Darcy, a brilliant but quite subordinate member of the
former Liberal Government, had made but occasional appearances in
Parliament during the five years' rule of the Tories. He was a traveller
and explorer, and when in England a passionate votary of the Turf. An
incisive tongue, never more amusing than when it was engaged in railing
at the English workman and democracy in general, a handsome person, and
a strong leaning to Ritualism--these qualities and distinctions had not
for some time done much to advance his Parliamentary position. But
during the preceding session he had been more regular in his attendance
at the House, and had made a considerable impression there--as a man of
eccentric, but possibly great ability.
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