It was because they were fools. They could not, or they
would not, understand the people they sought to manipulate.
What could not a man of real brain, of real breadth
and energy and force of character, do in London with two
hundred thousand pounds? Why, he could make himself master
of the town! He could break into fragments the political
ascendency of the snob, "semi-detached" villa classes,
in half the Parliamentary divisions they now controlled.
He could reverse the partisan complexion of the
Metropolitan delegation, and lead to Westminster a
party of his own, a solid phalanx of disciplined men,
standing for the implacable Democracy of reawakened London.
With such a backing, he could coerce ministries at will,
and remake the politics of England. The role of Great
Oliver himself was not too hopelessly beyond the scope
of such a vision.
Thorpe threw his cigar-end aside, and then noted that it
was almost dark. He strode up to the terrace two steps
at a time, and swung along its length with a vigour and
exhilaration of movement he had not known, it seemed to him,
for years. He felt the excitement of a new incentive
bubbling in his veins.
"Her Ladyship is in her sitting-room, sir," a domestic
replied to his enquiry in the hall. The title arrested
his attention from some fresh point of view, and he
pondered it, as he made his way along the corridor,
and knocked at a door.
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