else?"

"The Bishop," his mother continued, "looking very tired, poor dear!
Doctor George Lennard, from Oxford, two young soldiers from Norwich,
whom Charlie asked us to be civil to--and the great man himself."

"Tell me about the great man? I don't think I've seen him to speak to
since he became Prime Minister."

"He declares that this is his first holiday this year. He is looking
rather tired, but he has had an hour's shooting since he arrived, and
seemed to enjoy it. Here's your father."

The Earl of Maltenby, who entered a moment later, was depressingly
typical. He was as tall as his youngest son, with whom he shook
hands absently and whom he resembled in no other way. He had the
conventionally aristocratic features, thin lips and steely blue eyes. He
was apparently a little annoyed.

"Anything wrong, dear?" Lady Maltenby asked.

Her husband took up his position on the hearthrug.

"I am annoyed with Stenson," he declared.

The Countess shook her head.

"It's too bad of you, Henry," she expostulated. "You've been trying to
talk politics with him. You know that the poor man was only longing
for forty-eight hours during which he could forget that he was Prime
Minister of England."

"Precisely, my dear," Lord Maltenby agreed. "I can assure you that I
have not transgressed in any way. A remark escaped me referring to the
impossibility of providing beaters, nowadays, and to the fact that out
of my seven keepers, five are fighting. I consider Mr. Stenson's comment
was most improper, coming from one to whom the destinies of this country
are confided."

"What did he say?" the Countess asked meekly.

"Something about wondering whether any man would be allowed to have
seven keepers after the war," her husband replied, with an angry
light in his eyes. "If a man like Stenson is going to encourage these
socialistic ideas. I beg your pardon--the Bishop, my dear."

The remaining guests drifted in within the next few moments,--the
Bishop, Julian's godfather, a curious blend of the fashionable and
the devout, the anchorite and the man of the people; Lord and Lady
Shervinton, elderly connections of the nondescript variety; Mr. Hannaway
Wells, reserved yet, urbane, a wonderful type of the supreme success of
mediocrity; a couple of young soldiers, light-hearted and out for a good
time, of whom Julian took charge; an Oxford don, who had once been Lord
Maltenby's tutor; and last of all the homely, very pleasant-looking,
m