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Foley's eyes lit with joyful appreciation of his sister's naïveté. Perhaps one reason why they got on so well together was because she was continually ministering to his sense of humour. "It wasn't altogether that," he said, "but never mind. We can't send the people away now that's certain. What I wanted to tell you was that Elisabeth must sit next Maraton to-night." Lady Grenside was horrified.
Gabe knew all those present except one man a stranger who had landed at Baxter Station from the afternoon freight. Foley's hotel did not boast of a register, and the stranger did not volunteer any information regarding his name or business. He had put in the afternoon and early evening strolling about the village and talking to the men on the branch line.
The former arrived a few moments after his niece's departure. "I have come," Maraton announced, as they shook hands, "to accept your invitation to Lyndwood. You understand, I am sure, that that commits me to nothing?" Mr. Foley's expression was one of intense relief. "Naturally," he replied. "I quite understand that. I am delighted to think that you are coming at all.
But two days have passed since I left them, and I know not what may have happened in the meantime." Norman Foley's anxiety was greatly increased by the account given him by Archie Sandys, for he it was who had so happily escaped destruction. He observed the lieutenant's evident agitation, though he might not have suspected the cause.
But I think that he prepares the world too much for some change in his condition, for he drives about in an old chariot of Foley's, as I am told, with a servant of his own in livery; and this occasions so much speculation, that his great secret diu celari non potest.
Foley's there, a famous polo player and sportsman; Lord Carton, whose eyes seldom left Elisabeth's face; Sir William Blend, the great lawyer; Mr. Horrill and Lord Armley. These, with Elisabeth's mother and herself, made up the party. "I think I am going to bar politics," Lady Grenside said, as she took her place. "Impossible!" Mr. Foley retorted, in high good humour. "This is a political luncheon.
James's Street was thronged with soldiers marching into the Park. Maraton pursued his way steadily into Pall Mall and Downing Street. Even here there were very few people, and the front of Mr. Foley's house was almost deserted, save for one or two curious loiterers and a couple of policemen. Maraton rang the bell and found no trouble in obtaining admittance.
Maraton felt suddenly a twinge of something I which was almost compunction. Mr. Foley's face was white and tired. He had the air of a man oppressed with anxieties which he was doing his best to conceal. "If I can," he said, "I should like very much to see Lady Elisabeth. Perhaps I shall be in time after our interview with Maxendorf, or before. I will go home and change, on the chance."
This, by Mr Foley's forethought, had been erected some way from the camp, and a sentry placed over it. The next thing to be done was to secure the tents with preventer-stays, as the seamen called them. By this means, furiously as the wind began to blow, not a tent was capsized. Being composed of sails, they were much lower than ordinary tents, and thus much less exposed than such would have been.
He'll do his best." "He won't succeed," Aaron declared eagerly. "I saw Ernshaw two hours ago. They're on to Peter Dale and his move. Do you know why Peter Dale was late here this afternoon? He'd been to Downing Street. I heard. Foley's lost you, but he's holding on to the Labour Party. He's pitting the Labour Party against you in the country." Selingman laughed heartily.
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