an't have taken more than an hour to speechify after
the declaration of the poll. And I know William meant to catch that
train if he possibly could."

"And take his seat this evening?"

Lady Tranmore nodded. She moved restlessly about the room, fidgeting
with a book here and there, and evidently full of thoughts. Mary Lyster
watched her a little longer, then quietly took up her work again. Her
air of well-bred sympathy, the measured ease of her movements,
contrasted with Lady Tranmore's impatience. Yet in truth she was
listening no less sharply than her companion to the sounds in the
street outside.

Lady Tranmore made her way to the window, and stood there looking out on
the park. It was the week before Easter, and the plane-trees were not
yet in leaf. But a few thorns inside the park railings were already
lavishly green and there was a glitter of spring flowers beside the park
walks, not showing, however, in such glorious abundance as became the
fashion a few years later. It was a mild afternoon and the drive was
full of carriages. From the bow-window of the old irregular house in
which she stood, Lady Tranmore could watch the throng passing and
repassing, could see also the traffic in Park Lane on either side.
London, from this point of sight, wore a cheerful, friendly air. The dim
sunshine, the white-clouded sky, the touches of reviving green and
flowers, the soft air blowing in from a farther window which was open,
brought with them impressions of spring, of promise, and rebirth, which
insensibly affected Lady Tranmore.

"Well, I wonder what William will do, this time, in Parliament!" she
said, as she dropped again into her seat by the fire and began to cut
the pages of a new book.

"He is sure to do extremely well," said Miss Lyster.

Lady Tranmore shrugged her shoulders. "My dear--do you know that William
has been for eight years--since he left Trinity--one of the idlest young
men alive?"

"He had one brief!"

"Yes--somewhere in the country, where all the juniors get one in turn,"
said Lady Tranmore. "That was the year he was so keen and went on
circuit, and never missed a sessions. Next year nothing would induce
him to stir out of town. What has he done with himself all these eight
years? I can't imagine."

"He has grown--uncommonly handsome," said Mary Lyster, with a momentary
hesitation as she threaded her needle afresh.

"I never remember him anything else," said Lady Tranmore. "All the
artists