lways did in the novel she had just been
reading, so she recognised that such a proceeding was out of the
question.

The train which carried Alethia towards her destination was a local one,
with the wayside station habit strongly developed. At most of the
stations no one seemed to want to get into the train or to leave it, but
at one there were several market folk on the platform, and two men, of
the farmer or small cattle-dealer class, entered Alethia's carriage.
Apparently they had just foregathered, after a day's business, and their
conversation consisted of a rapid exchange of short friendly inquiries as
to health, family, stock, and so forth, and some grumbling remarks on the
weather. Suddenly, however, their talk took a dramatically interesting
turn, and Alethia listened with wide-eyed attention.

"What do you think of Mister Robert Bludward, eh?"

There was a certain scornful ring in his question.

"Robert Bludward? An out-an'-out rotter, that's what he is. Ought to be
ashamed to look any decent man in the face. Send him to Parliament to
represent us--not much! He'd rob a poor man of his last shilling, he
would."

"Ah, that he would. Tells a pack of lies to get our votes, that's all
that he's after, damn him. Did you see the way the _Argus_ showed him up
this week? Properly exposed him, hip and thigh, I tell you."

And so on they ran, in their withering indictment. There could be no
doubt that it was Alethia's cousin and prospective host to whom they were
referring; the allusion to a Parliamentary candidature settled that. What
could Robert Bludward have done, what manner of man could he be, that
people should speak of him with such obvious reprobation?

"He was hissed down at Shoalford yesterday," said one of the speakers.

Hissed! Had it come to that? There was something dramatically biblical
in the idea of Robert Bludward's neighbours and acquaintances hissing him
for very scorn. Lord Hereward Stranglath had been hissed, now Alethia
came to think of it, in the eighth chapter of _Matterby Towers_, while in
the act of opening a Wesleyan bazaar, because he was suspected (unjustly
as it turned out afterwards) of having beaten the German governess to
death. And in _Tainted Guineas_ Roper Squenderby had been deservedly
hissed, on the steps of the Jockey Club, for having handed a rival owner
a forged telegram, containing false news of his mother's death, just
before the start for an important r