showed itself predominantly hostile. . . .

Lord Southminster's house needs no description. It is probably,
even to-day, as well known as any place in England: there is no
guide book which does not give at least three or four pages to
the castle, as well as a few lines to the tiny historical seaside
village beneath from which the marquisate derives its name. And
it was in the little dining-room that adjoined the hall that the
man who had lost his memory found himself on this evening with
half a dozen other men and a couple of ladies.

It was a small octagonal room, designed in one of the towers that
looked out over the sea; panelled in painted wood and furnished
with extreme plainness. On one side a door opened upon the three
little parlours that were used when the party was small; at the
back a lobby led into the old hall itself; on the third side was
the door used by the servants.

Lord Southminster himself was still a young man, who had not yet
married. His grandfather had become a Catholic in the reign of
Edward VII; and the whole house had reverted to the old religion
under which it had been originally built, with the greatest ease
and grace. The present owner was one of the rising politicians
who were most determined to carry the Bill through; and he had
already made for himself something of a reputation by his
speeches in the Upper House. Monsignor had met him half a dozen
times already, and thoroughly liked this fair-haired,
clean-shaven young man who was such a devoted adherent of the
Catholic cause.