Idly he opened the telegram--it was from his lawyers: "Your cousin, the
child George Bingham, is, as we have just heard, dead. Please call on us
early to-morrow morning."
He started a little, for this meant a good deal to Geoffrey. It meant a
baronetcy and eight thousand a year, more or less. How delighted Honoria
would be, he thought with a sad smile; the loss of that large income had
always been a bitter pill to her, and one which she had made him swallow
again and again. Well, there it was. Poor boy, he had always been
ailing--an old man's child!
He put the telegram in his pocket and got into the hansom again. There
was a lamp in it and by its light he read the letter. It was from the
Prime Minister and ran thus:
"My dear Bingham,--I have not seen you since Monday to thank you for
the magnificent speech you made on that night. Allow me to add my
congratulations to those of everybody else. As you know, the Under
Secretaryship of the Home Office is vacant. On behalf of my colleagues
and myself I write to ask if you will consent to fill it for a time,
for we do not in any way consider that the post is one commensurate with
your abilities.
Pages:
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524