The election came on. Alixe listened with intense interest to the accounts Emily received of her brother's success. The first day, the odds were greatly in favour of Everard. The second day, Alixe made [herself] sure he would be returned. Judge then of the sorrowful surprise with which the news was received of his failure. Harry Dunstan was member for M___! What dull senseless people the inhabitants of that borough must be. Everard returned fagged and out of spirits. His pride was mortified and the great aim of his life baffled, just within view of success.

“And that old foolish Lord Sunderland was so positive of his influence,” said the disappointed candidate peevishly, as he threw himself into the chair Emily wheeled round for him.

“And the fools on whose votes I depended, gaped and hurrared and drank and fought and looked at their own cockades, till I am sure they did not know Dunstan and me apart. And there again,” continued he, growing more wrathful at the recollection, as a soldier's blood warms during the recital of his past campaigns, “there I was to be fooled and insulted. I held out my hand to Dunstan when I met him, and drew back with air of an injured hero and said, ‘Now, you have already told me you cannot wish me success and we do not meet here as friends, we that have been friends ever since we were boys at College and wrote themes to the tune of Damon and Pythias!’ Oh it was shabby, confoundedly shabby. So I left him in a very ill humour, for then he did not seem to have a chance of success.”

“Yes, the tide of fortune does seem to have changed even more quickly than usual,” said Emily.

“Quickly enough. For on Friday evening, he had about 120 votes and [by] Saturday he had upwards of three hundred and forty. And then I had to make my appearance before Lord Sunderland, to thank him for his support, to regret that support had not been more efficacious, which of course I could not often attribute to his lordship's want of zeal or influence etc, etc.