rs from him with a hasty unconscious
movement.

In driving home that evening past the gates and plantations of Beechcote
it seemed to him that he had seen through the trees--in the
distance--the fluttering of a white dress. Had the news of his
inglorious success just reached her? How had she received it? Her face
came before him--the frank eyes--the sweet troubled look.

He dropped his head upon his arms. A sick distaste for all that he had
been doing and thinking rose upon him, wavelike, drowning for a moment
the energies of mind and will. Had anything been worth while--for
_him_--since the day when he had failed to keep the last tryst which
Diana had offered him?

He did not, however, long allow himself a weakness which he knew well he
had no right to indulge. He roused himself abruptly, took pen and paper,
and wrote a little note to Alicia, sending it round to her through
her maid.

* * * * *

Marsham pleaded fatigue, and dined in his room. In the course of the
meal he inquired of his servant if Mr. Barrington had arrived.

"Yes, sir; he arrived in time for dinner."

"Ask him to come up afterward and see me here."

As he awaited the new-comer, Marsham had time to ponder what this visit
of a self-invited guest might mean. The support of the _Herald_ and its
brilliant editor had been so far one of Ferrier's chief assets. But
there had been some signs of wavering in its columns lately, especially
on two important questions likely to occupy the new Ministry in its
first session--matters on which the opinion of the Darcy, or advanced
section, was understood to be in violent conflict with that of Ferrier
and the senior members of the late Front Opposition Bench in general.

Barrington, no doubt, wished to pump him--one of Ferrier's
intimates--with regard to the latest phase of Ferrier's views on these
two principal measures. The leader himself was rather stiff and
old-fashioned with regard to journalists--gave too little information
where other men gave too much.

Oliver glanced in some disquiet at the pile of Ferrier's letters lying
beside him. It contained material for which any ambitious journalist, at
the present juncture, would give the eyes out of his head. But could
Barrington be trusted? Oliver vaguely remembered some stories to his
disadvantage, told probably by Lankester, who in these respects was one
of the most scrupulous of men. Yet the paper stood high, and was
cert