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The carriage had turned in at the drive, and he glanced towards Brooks a little uneasily. "Do I look-as though I'd been going it a bit?" he asked. "Since Selina's got these band-box young men hanging around she's so mighty particular." Brooks leaned forward and rescued Mr. Bullsom's tie from underneath his ear. "You're all right," he said, reassuringly.
"Mrs. Bullsom," he said, "this is my young friend, Kingston Brooks. My two daughters, sir, Louise and Selina." The ladies were gracious, but had the air of being taken by surprise, which, considering Mr. Bullsom's parting words a few hours ago, seemed strange. "We've had a great meeting," Mr.
"I have a great respect for him." She made a little face. "Who's the nice-looking girl in black with her hair parted in the middle?" she asked. "Mr. Bullsom's niece. She is quite charming, and most intelligent." "Dear me!" Mrs. Huntingdon remarked. "I had no idea she had anything to do with the family. Sort of a Cinderella look about her now you mention it.
Selina and her sister were gorgeous in green and pink respectively. Mr. Bullsom's shirt-front was a thing to wonder at. There was an air of repressed excitement about everybody, except Mary, who welcomed him with a quiet smile. "I am not much too early, I hope," Brooks remarked. "You're in the nick of time," Mr. Bullsom assured him.
"I want to have a chat with you about the subject." "Not now," she interposed. "You know these people, don't you, and the Huntingdons? Go and talk to them, please." Brooks laughed, and went to the rescue. He won Mrs. Bullsom's eternal gratitude by diverting Mrs. Seventon's attention from her, and thereby allowing her a moment or two to recover herself.
Mr. Bullsom's thumbs made their accustomed pilgrimage. "In the service of one's country," he said, "one should be prepared to make sacrifices. The champagne, Amy. Besides, one can always sleep in the morning." Selina and Louise exchanged glances, and Selina, as the elder, gave the project her languid approval. "It would be nice for us in a way," she remarked.
The political excitement, which a few weeks ago he had begun to feel exhilarating, had for him decreased now that his share in it lay behind the scenes, and he found himself wholly occupied with the purely routine work of the election. Nor was there any sufficient explanation to be found in the entertainment which he had felt himself bound to accept at Mr. Bullsom's hands.
Bullsom laid hold of the strap of the carriage. The road was rough, the horses were fresh, and Mr. Bullsom's head had felt steadier. "Well," Mr. Bullsom said, "you'd think to hear em we'd stepped straight into heaven. We're close to the barracks, you know, and I'm blest if half the officers haven't called already.
He had accepted his good fortune with something of the same cheerful philosophy with which he had seen difficulty loom up in his path a few months ago. But to-night, on his way home from Mr. Bullsom's suburban residence, a different mood possessed him. Usually a self-contained and somewhat gravely minded person, to-night the blood went tingling through his veins with a new and unaccustomed warmth.
Let me tell you, young lady, that but for that fact I should not tolerate your presence here." "I am Mr. Bullsom's niece," the girl answered, "but I am the daughter of Martin Scott Cartnell!" It seemed to Brooks that a smothered exclamation of some sort broke from Lord Arranmore's tightly compressed lips, but his face was so completely in the shadow that its expression was lost.
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