in his view the social hierarchy was part of the cosmic order. It was unchanging, immutable. "Scotchie" was a charlatan, tongue in cheek; a mountebank of a fellow whom it was amazing that honest men, let alone high-*born women, could not see through. Joe was determined to have no truck with him, but the People's Candidate with a bonhomie which the former colleague of the X Division was inclined to regard as mere brazenness, seemed quite determined not to take rebuffs from an old friend.
"You haven't a vote, Joe, I know," said Maclean, "but you are a man of influence here and I want you to speak for me with your pals."
Joe shook a solemn head.
"I don't believe in your principles," said he.
The voice, a growl of indignation, struck the ear of Lady Muriel a veritable blow. In spite of "the breadth" she was trying so hard to cultivate, the laws of her being demanded that these humble people should grovel. They were of another caste, another clay; somehow Joe's blunt skepticism gave her a sense of personal affront.
"You have not a vote, Mr. Kelly," she interposed, in a sharp tone. "Pray, why didn't you tell me? A canvasser's time is valuable."
"Your ladyship never asked the question."
"But you knew, surely, my object in coming?"
"I did," said Joe coolly, with a slightly humorous air. "And I thought your ladyship so dangerous that the best thing I could do was to get you barking up the wrong tree."
The answer delighted Maclean. He threw up his head
