brown
from top to toe, against which no ornament, no piece of china, no
picture, even did they possess some individual beauty, could possibly
make it prevail.

And the drawing-room! As Alicia Drake advanced alone into its empty and
blazing magnificence she could only laugh in its face--so eager and
restless was the effort which it made, and so hopeless the defeat.
Enormous mirrors, spread on white and gold walls; large copies from
Italian pictures, collected by Henry Marsham in Rome; more facile
statues holding innumerable lights; great pieces of modern china painted
with realistic roses and poppies; crimson carpets, gilt furniture, and
flaring cabinets--Miss Drake frowned as she looked at it. "What _could_
be done with it?" she said to herself, walking slowly up and down, and
glancing from side to side--"What _could_ be done with it?"

A rustle in the hall announced another guest. Mrs. Fotheringham entered.
Marsham's sister dressed with severity; and as she approached her cousin
she put up her eye-glass for what was evidently a hostile inspection of
the dazzling effect presented by the young lady. But Alicia was not
afraid of Mrs. Fotheringham.

"How early we are!" she said, still quietly looking at the reflection of
herself in the mirror over the mantel-piece and warming a slender foot
at the fire. "Haven't some more people arrived, Cousin Isabel? I thought
I heard a carriage while I was dressing."

"Yes; Miss Vincent and three men came by the late train."

"All Labor members?" asked Alicia, with a laugh.

Mrs. Fotheringham explained, with some tartness, that only one of the
three was a Labor member--Mr. Barton. Of the other two, one was Edgar
Frobisher, the other Mr. McEwart, a Liberal M.P., who had just won a
hotly contested bye-election. At the name of Edgar Frobisher, Miss
Drake's countenance showed some animation. She inquired if he had been
doing anything madder than usual. Mrs. Fotheringham replied, without
enthusiasm, that she knew nothing about his recent doings--nor about Mr.
McEwart, who was said, however, to be of the right stuff. Mr. Barton, on
the other hand, "is a _great_ friend of mine--and a most remarkable man.
Oliver has been very lucky to get him."

Alicia inquired whether he was likely to appear in dress clothes.

"Certainly not. He never does anything out of keeping with his
class--and he knows that we lay no stress on that kind of thing." This,
with another glance at the elegant Paris f