stance with smiling promptitude.

"Of course, Mr. Sylvester; we will even wear your colours, if they
are becoming, you know; and I am sure you would not fight under any
others. And, mind, we will have no reforms--unless you like to try
your hand on the climate. But nothing else! You are so fond of
reforming, you English--even the most Conservative of you--that I
live in constant fear of being reformed away. I hope, Mr. Sylvester,
you are more Conservative than that."

Charles Sylvester flushed a little; he cleared his throat
elaborately before he replied:

"I fear I have failed to make myself understood, Lady Garnett; in no
sense do I call myself a Conservative, though I am prepared to vote
with the party on the Irish Question. I am a Liberal Unionist, Lady
Garnett. I may almost call myself a Radical Unionist. My views on
the emancipation of labour, for instance, are quite advanced. I am
prepared----"

Mary interrupted him, absently, demurely, with a little speech that
appeared to be a quotation.

"Labour is a pretty beast in its cage to the philanthropic visitor
with buns; its temper is better understood of the professional
keeper."

Lady Garnett arched her eyebrows pensively; Charles looked
surprised, displeased; Mary hastened to explain, blushing a little:

"I beg your pardon! the phrase is Mr. Rainham's. I believe it is the
only political principle he has."

Charles's displeasure at the maxim cooled to lofty disdain of its
author.

"Ah, yes!--pretty, but cynical, as I should say most of Mr.
Rainham's principles were."

Lady Garnett was aroused out of her state of vacant boredom for the
first time into a certain interest. Mary sat, her hands clasped in
her lap, the flush just dying away out of her pale cheeks, while Mr.
Sylvester embarked upon an elaborate disquisition of his principles
and his programme--it might have been an expansion of his
Parliamentary address--which the elder lady, whom a chance phrase
had started upon a new line of thought, scarcely considered.

Does he know? she asked herself. Has this rather stupid young man
grown suddenly acute enough to be jealous? Certainly there had been
a flash, a trace of curious rancour in his brief mention of
Rainham's name, for which it was scarcely easy to account. That the
two men, in spite of their long juxtaposition, had never been more
than acquaintances, had never been in the least degree friends, she
was perfectly well aware; it was not in the