ffily. She might deplore his politics herself--when she was
some distance away from him--but no one else should presume to find
fault. "He may be mistaken in his views--I think he is mistaken--but
that don't alter the fact that he's a very successful man: a solid man,
well thought of in Marlehouse, I can tell you."

"Dada says," Eloquent broke in, "that he's successful _because_ of his
views."

"Well, to be sure," exclaimed the housekeeper in astonishment, "who'd
have thought the child could understand."

"The child," groaned Miss Gallup, "hears nothing but politics all day
long--it turns me cold sometimes, it does really."

CHAPTER II

ONE OF THEM

When Eloquent was six years old his visits to the "Manshun" at
Redmarley ceased.

Old Mr Ffolliot died, and his nephew, Mr Hilary, reigned in his stead.
The butler and the housekeeper, handsomely pensioned, left the village.
The staff of servants was much reduced, and at first Mr Hilary Ffolliot
only came down to Redmarley for two or three days at a time. Then he
married and came to live there altogether.

Eloquent had liked going to Redmarley. The place attracted him, and
the people were kind, even if they were wrong-headed as to politics.
One day he asked his aunt when they would go again.

"I don't fancy we shall go much now," she replied; "most of my friends
have left. It's all different now up at the 'Manshun,' with a young
missus and a new housekeeper; though they seem pleased enough about it
in the village; a well-spoken, nice-looking young lady they says she
is, but I shan't go there no more. They don't know me and I don't know
them, and there we'll have to leave it."

And there it was left.

Redmarley would probably have faded altogether from Eloquent's mind,
but for something that occurred to give it a new interest in his eyes.

The summer that he was seven, he was sent to the Grammar School. He
came home every day directly after morning lessons, for he was as yet
considered too small to take part in the games which were at that time
but slightly supervised.

One day he returned to find a victoria and pair standing at the shop
door, coachman on the box, footman standing on the pavement. This was
unusual. Such an equipage must, he felt, belong to some member of the
dangerously seductive "upper classes" his dada warned him against so
often. The class that some day would _want_ him. The class he was to
keep at arm's length till he was