e for certain of his colleagues, notably Mr. Vennard
and Mr. Cargill.

When Miss Barriton arrived with her stepmother the party was almost
complete. She entered with an air of apologising for her prettiness.
Her manner with old men was delightful, and I watched with interest the
unbending of Caerlaverock and the simplifying of Mr. Cargill in her
presence. Deloraine, who was talking feverishly to Mrs. Cargill,
started as if to go and greet her, thought better of it, and continued
his conversation. The lady swept the room with her eye, but did not
acknowledge his presence. She floated off with Mr. Cargill to a
window-corner, and metaphorically sat at his feet. I saw Deloraine
saying things behind his moustache, while he listened to Mrs. Cargill's
new cure for dyspepsia.

Last of all, twenty minutes late, came Abinger Vennard. He made a fine
stage entrance, walking swiftly with a lowering brow to his hostess,
and then glaring fiercely round the room as if to challenge criticism.
I have heard Deloraine, in a moment of irritation, describe him as a
"Pre-Raphaelite attorney," but there could be no denying his good
looks. He had a bad, loose figure, and a quantity of studiously
neglected hair, but his face was the face of a young Greek. A certain
kind of political success gives a man the manners of an actor, and both
Vennard and Cargill bristled with self-consciousness. You could see it
in the way they patted their hair, squared their shoulders, and shifted
their feet to positions loved by sculptors.

"Well, Vennard, what's the news from the House?" Caerlaverock asked.

"Simpson is talking," said Vennard wearily. "He attacks me, of course.
He says he has lived forty years in India--as if that mattered! When
will people recognise that the truths of democratic policy are
independent of time and space? Liberalism is a category, an eternal
mode of thought, which cannot be overthrown by any trivial happenings.
I am sick of the word 'facts.' I long for truths."

Miss Barriton's eyes brightened, and Cargill said, "Excellent." Lord
Mulross, who was a little deaf, and in any case did not understand the
language, said loudly to my aunt that he wished there was a close time
for legislation.

"The open season for grouse should be the close season for politicians."

And then we went down to dinner.

Miss Barriton sat on my left hand, between Deloraine and me, and it was
clear she was discontented with her position.