, and Moorsome on the other, so that he would be quite safe at
dinner, and afterward--Stanley must look out!

"What have you done with Nedda?" Stanley asked.

"Given her to Colonel Martlett, with Sir John Fanfar on the other side;
they both like something fresh." She hoped, however, to foster a
discussion, so that they might really get further this week-end; the
opportunity was too good to throw away.

"H'm!" Stanley murmured. "Felix said some very queer things the other
night. He, too, might make ructions."

Oh, no!--Clara persisted--Felix had too much good taste. She thought
that something might be coming out of this occasion, something as it were
national, that would bear fruit. And watching Stanley buttoning his
braces, she grew enthusiastic. For, think how splendidly everything was
represented! Britto, with his view that the thing had gone too far, and
all the little efforts we might make now were no good, with Canada and
those great spaces to outbid anything we could do; though she could not
admit that he was right, there was a lot in what he said; he had great
gifts--and some day might--who knew? Then there was Sir John--Clara
pursued--who was almost the father of the new Tory policy: Assist the
farmers to buy their own land. And Colonel Martlett, representing the
older Tory policy of: What the devil would happen to the landowners if
they did? Secretly (Clara felt sure) he would never go into a lobby to
support that. He had said to her: 'Look at my brother James's property;
if we bring this policy in, and the farmers take advantage, his house
might stand there any day without an acre round it.' Quite true--it
might. The same might even happen to Becket.

Stanley grunted.

Exactly!--Clara went on: And that was the beauty of having got the
Mallorings; theirs was such a steady point of view, and she was not sure
that they weren't right, and the whole thing really a question of model
proprietorship.

"H'm!" Stanley muttered. "Felix will have his knife into that."

Clara did not think that mattered. The thing was to get everybody's
opinion. Even Mr. Moorsome's would be valuable--if he weren't so
terrifically silent, for he must think a lot, sitting all day, as he did,
painting the land.

"He's a heavy ass," said Stanley.

Yes; but Clara did not wish to be narrow. That was why it was so
splendid to have got Mr. Sleesor. If anybody knew the Radical mind he
did, and he could give full force