On hearing the figures (the majority five years before had been fifteen
hundred), Bobbie could not forbear an exclamation which produced another
contraction of Lady Lucy's tired brow. Lady Niton gave a very audible
"Whew!"--to which she hastened to add: "Well, Lucy, what does it matter?
Twenty-four is as good as two thousand."
Lady Lucy roused herself a little.
"Of course," she said, languidly, "it is disappointing. But we may be
glad it is no worse. For a little while, during the counting, we thought
Oliver was out. But the last bundles to be counted were all for him, and
we just saved it." A pause, and then the speaker added, with emphasis:
"It has been a _horrid_ election! Such ill-feeling--and violence--such
unfair placards!--some of them, I am sure, were libellous. But I am told
one can do nothing."
"Well, my dear, this is what Democracy comes to," said Lady Niton,
taking up her knitting again with vehemence. "'_Tu l'as voulu, Georges
Dandin_.' You Liberals have opened the gates--and now you grumble at
the deluge."
"It has been the injustice shown him by his own side that Oliver minds."
The speaker's voice betrayed the bleeding of the inward wound.
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