devoted to politics."

"Where did you meet him first?" Hester asked.

"It was at the Metropole at Bexhill," Mrs. Phillimore answered. "We
motored down there one day, and Lena Roberts told me that she heard him
inquiring who I was directly we came into the room. He joined our party
at luncheon. Billy knew him slightly, so I made him go over and ask him."

Hester nodded, and seemed to be absorbed in some trifling defect of one
of the keys of her typewriter.

"Does he still ask you many questions about Mr. Mannering, mother?" she
asked, quietly.

"About Mr. Mannering!" Mrs. Phillimore repeated, with raised eyebrows.
"Why, he scarcely ever mentions his name."

She took up a small mirror from the table by her side, and critically
touched her hair.

"About Mr. Mannering, indeed," she repeated. "Why do you ask me such a
question?"

The girl hesitated.

"Do you really want to know, mother?" she asked.

"Of course!"

"When Mr. Mannering was here last," Hester said, "he asked me whether Sir
Leslie Borrowdean was a friend of yours. I fancy that they are political
acquaintances, but I don't think that they are on very good terms."

Mrs. Phillimore laid down the mirror and yawned.

"Well, there's nothing very strange about that," she declared. "Lawrence
isn't the sort to get on with many people, especially since he went and
buried himself in the country. How pale you are looking, child. Why don't
you go and take a walk, instead of hammering away at that old typewriter?
Any one would think that you had to do it for a living!"

"I prefer to earn my own living," the girl answered, "and I am not in the
least tired. Tell me, are you going to see Sir Leslie Borrowdean again,
mother?"

The woman on the couch smoothed her hair once more, with a smile of
gratification.

"Sir Leslie has asked me to join a small party of friends for dinner at
the Carlton this evening," she announced. "Why on earth are you looking
at me like that, child? You're always grumbling that my friends are a
fast lot, and don't suit you. You can't say anything against Sir Leslie."

The girl had risen to her feet. The trouble in her face was manifest.

"Mother," she said, slowly, "I wish that you were not going. I wish that
you would have nothing whatever to do with Sir Leslie Borrowdean."

"Good Heavens!--and why not?" the woman exclaimed, suddenly sitting up.

"I believe that he only asked you because he has an idea that you can
tell him--somet