then you can go back to the sweet
pretty thing that fetched you to do the civil--oh, I saw it all! what a
pity she's the other side, isn't it? what a canvasser she'd make with
that smile . . . well, well, there's many a pretty Tory lady married a
Radical before this _and_ changed her politics, so don't you lose
heart . . . soup, yes, I'd fancy some soup . . . well, what a sight to
be sure . . . and how do you feel things are going in the
constituency? . . ."

But Eloquent had no need to answer. His charge kept up a continual
flow of conversation, only punctuated by mouthfuls of food. When at
last he took her back to the seat near the band, Mary had gone to
supper and was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm much obliged to you, Mr Gallup," said the lady, "though you
wouldn't have done it if you hadn't been forced. Now let an old woman
give you a bit of advice. . . . _Look_ willin' whether you are or not."

Poor Eloquent felt very much as though she had boxed his ears. A few
minutes later he saw that the Elizabethan gentleman and Mary were
seated on either side of his recent partner and were apparently well
amused.

How did they do it?

And presently when Reggie Peel and Mary passed him in the Boston he
heard Peel say, "Quite the most amusing person here to-night. I shall
sit out the next two dances with her, I'm tired."

"I was tired too, that's why . . ." they went out of earshot, and he
never caught the end of the sentence.

Eloquent danced no more with Mary, nor did he sit out at all with the
indomitable old lady, who, bright-eyed and vigilant, still watched from
her post near the band. The end was really near, and he stood against
the wall gloomily regarding Mary as she flew about in the arms--very
closely in the arms as ruled by the new dancing--of a young barrister.
He was staying with the Campions and had, all the previous week, been
helping heartily in the Liberal cause. He had come down from London
especially to do so, but during Christmas week there was a truce on
both sides, and he remained to enjoy himself.

Just then Eloquent hated him. He hated all these people who seemed to
find it so easy to be amusing and amused. Yet he stayed till the very
last dance watching Phyllida, the milkmaid, with intense disapproval,
as, her sun-bonnet hanging round her neck, she tore through the Post
Horn Gallop with that detestable barrister. He decided that the
manners of the upper classes, if easy and pleasant, w