rty in Parliament. "We have no doubt of what his
opinion would have been, had he been able to study our additional facts
and been spared to complete his report. As it was, he had only discussed
the matter informally with one or two of us." And when he was left alone,
he murmured softly, "I suppose that's how Alexander meant me to put it."
But he rather wished that Alexander had been there to put it himself.

It is perhaps needless to say that Aunt Maria, sturdily fulfilling her
destiny in life, was deeply concerned in the fortunes of the Alethea
Printing Press. But large as was her stake--and the possibilities of loss
at least were for her very large--she was not disturbed; she said that
heaven alone knew whether there was anything in the thing, but that she
knew that Sandro would make people think there was. Nor did she share in
any serious degree the fears which afflicted her nephew's wife; Sandro
always had a case, and she did not doubt that he would have a very good
one whereby to justify any proceedings he might take in regard to the
Alethea. So she lived frugally, hoped magnificently, and came often to
Grosvenor Road to pick up what crumbs of information she could. Here she
met Lady Castlefort and nodded her rusty bonnet at that great personage
with the remark that she was glad people were waking up to what there was
in Sandro; it was time, goodness knew. Lady Castlefort was for the moment
taken aback.

"Mr. Quisante has had certain--er--difficulties to overcome," she
murmured rather vaguely, and was not reassured by a dry chuckle and the
heartfelt exclamation, "I should think so!" Altogether it was difficult
to make out exactly what Mr. Quisante's aunt thought of him.

Here the old lady met also the Dean of St. Neot's, who called every now
and then because he liked May and wished to show that he bore no malice
about the Crusade; but the subject was still a sore one, and he was as
little prepared to be chuckled at over it as Lady Castlefort had been
over her diplomatic indication of the fact that Quisante's blood was not
blue nor his manners those of a grand old English gentleman.

"Sandro knew all along that there wasn't much in that, but it was
something to begin with," Aunt Maria remarked to the uncomfortable Dean.
She herself had dragged in the Crusade, to which she referred so
contemptuously.

"Miss Quisante will do anything in the world for my husband," May
interposed, "but nothing'll persuade her to say