I should."

"Why shouldn't I come here straight that night? I shouldn't have
forgotten anything by then."

"No," Miss Gallup said firmly. "I'd much rather you didn't come to me
from that 'ouse nor go there from me. You go back 'ome like a good
boy. It isn't as if you couldn't afford a chaise to bring you."

Eloquent saw that she really meant what she said. He was puzzled and
rather hurt, for it had never occurred to him that his aunt was
anything but his aunt: a kindly garrulous old lady who had always been
extremely good to him, whom it was his duty to cherish, who looked upon
him in the light of a son.

He was a simple person and never realised that this simplicity and
directness had a good deal to do with the undoubted cordiality of
certain persons, who, apart from politics, were known to be very
exclusive in the matter of their acquaintance; and that it was largely
owing to the fact that he never showed the smallest false shame as to
his origin, that members of his party who had at first consented to
know him solely for political reasons, continued to know him when the
Liberal Government was for a second time firmly established. They
perceived his primness, were faintly amused by his immense earnestness,
and they respected his sincerity.

The manner of his arrival on the fateful night was settled for him by
Sir George Campion, who, meeting him in the street, offered him a seat
in their motor. Eloquent never knew that Mrs Ffolliot had asked Sir
George to do this, thinking that it would make things easier and
pleasanter for the guest who was the one stranger to the assembled
party.

On the night of the dinner Mary was dressed early and went to her
mother's room to see if she could help her.

Mrs Ffolliot was standing before her long glass and Sophia was shaking
out the train of her dress, a soft grey-blue dress full of purple
shadows and silvery lights.

She turned and looked at her tall young daughter, critically, fondly,
with the pride and fear and wonder a woman, above all a beautiful
woman, feels as she realises that for her child everything is yet to
come; the story all untold.

"You may go, Sophia," she said gently. "I think Miss Mary looks nice,
don't you? It's her first real evening frock, you know."

Sophia looked from the one to the other and her severe face relaxed a
little. "It fits most beautiful," she vouchsafed.

"Mother," Mary said when Sophia had gone, "I wanted to catch you j