t upon me.

"I am very glad to hear it," Brooks answered. "Shall I put you down on
the list 'to be fetched'?"

The Marquis laughed.

"I'll come without," he declared. "I promise. Just remind me of the
day."

He glanced towards Mary Scott, and for a moment seemed about to include
her in some forthcoming remark. But whatever it might have been--it was
never made. She kept her eyes averted, and though her self-possession
was absolutely unruffled she hastened her departure. "I am not hurrying
you, Mr. Brooks?" she asked. "Not in the least," he assured her.

He raised his hat to the Marquis and his party, and the former nodded
good-humouredly. There was silence until the two were in the street.
Then one of the men who had been looking after them dropped his
eye-glass.

"I tell you what," he said to his vis-a-vis. "There's some chance for
us in Medchester after all. I don't believe Arranmore is popular
amongst the ladies of his own neighbourhood."

The Marquis laughed softly.

"She has a nice face," he remarked, "and I should imagine excellent
perceptions. Curiously enough, too, she reminded me of some one who has
every reason to hate me. But to the best of my belief I never saw her
before in my life. Lady Caroom, that weird-looking object in front of
you is a teapot--and those are teacups. May I suggest a use for them?"

CHAPTER VI

THE MAN WHO WENT TO HELL

The Hon. Sydney Chester Molyneux stood with his cue in one hand, and an
open telegram in the other, in the billiard-room at Enton. He was
visibly annoyed.

"Beastly hard luck," he declared. "Parliament is a shocking grind
anyway. It isn't that one ever does anything, you know, but one wastes
such a lot of time when one might have been doing something worth
while."

"Do repeat that, Sydney," Lady Caroom begged, laying down her novel for
a moment. "It really sounds as though it ought to mean something."

"I couldn't!" he admitted. "I wish to cultivate a reputation for
originality, and my first object is to forget everything I have said
directly I have said it, in case I should repeat myself."

"A short memory," Arranmore remarked, "is a politician's most valuable
possession, isn't it?"

"No memory at all is better," Molyneux answered.

"And your telegram?" Lady Caroom asked.

"Is from my indefatigable uncle," Molyneux groaned. "He insists upon it
that I interest myself in the election here, which means that I must go
in to-morrow and call upon