rock which adorned the person
of Alicia--a frock, in Mrs. Fotheringham's opinion, far too expensive
for the girl's circumstances. Alicia received the glance without
flinching. It was one of her good points that she was never meek with
the people who disliked her. She merely threw out another inquiry as to
"Miss Vincent."

"One of mamma's acquaintances. She was a private secretary to some one
mamma knows, and she is going to do some work for Oliver when the
session begins.

"Didn't Oliver tell me she is a Socialist?"

Mrs. Fotheringham believed it might be said.

"How Miss Mallory will enjoy herself!" said Alicia, with a little laugh.

"Have you been talking to Oliver about her?" Mrs. Fotheringham stared
rather hard at her cousin.

"Of course. Oliver likes her."

"Oliver likes a good many people."

"Oh no, Cousin Isabel! Oliver likes very few people--very, very few,"
said Miss Drake, decidedly, looking down into the fire.

"I don't know why you give Oliver such an unamiable character! In my
opinion, he is often not so much on his guard as I should like to
see him."

"Oh, well, we can't all be as critical as you, dear Cousin Isabel! But,
anyway, Oliver admires Miss Mallory extremely. We can all see that."

The girl turned a steady face on her companion. Mrs. Fotheringham was
conscious of a certain secret admiration. But her own point of view had
nothing to do with Miss Drake's.

"It amuses him to talk to her," she said, sharply; "I am sure I hope it
won't come to anything more. It would be very unsuitable."

"Why? Politics? Oh! that doesn't matter a bit."

"I beg your pardon. Oliver is becoming an important man, and it will
never do for him to hamper himself with a wife who cannot sympathize
with any of his enthusiasms and ideals."

Miss Drake shrugged her shoulders.

"He would convert her--and he likes triumphing. Oh! Cousin Isabel!--look
at that lamp!"

An oil lamp in an inner drawing-room, placed to illuminate an easel
portrait of Lady Lucy, was smoking atrociously. The two ladies' flew
toward it, and were soon lost to sight and hearing amid a labyrinth of
furniture and palms.

The place they left vacant was almost immediately filled by Oliver
Marsham himself, who came in studying a pencilled paper, containing the
names of the guests. He and his mother had not found the dinner very
easy to arrange. Upon his heels followed Mr. Ferrier, who hurried to the
fire, rubbing his hands and complaining of