At the same time, the spectator must needs admit there was something
else in Lady Dunstable's talk than mere intelligence or mere
mannishness. There was undoubtedly something of "the good fellow," and,
through all her hard hitting, a curious absence--in conversation--of the
personal egotism she was quite ready to show in all the trifles of life.
On the present occasion her main object clearly was to bring out Arthur
Meadows--the new captive of her bow and spear; to find out what was in
him; to see if he was worthy of her inner circle. Throwing all
compliment aside, she attacked him hotly on certain statements--certain
estimates--in his lectures. Her knowledge was personal; the knowledge of
one whose father had sat in Dizzy's latest Cabinet, while, through the
endless cousinship of the English landed families, she was as much
related to the Whig as to the Tory leaders of the past. She talked
familiarly of "Uncle This" or "Cousin That," who had been apparently the
idols of her nursery before they had become the heroes of England; and
Meadows had much ado to defend himself against her store of anecdote and
reminiscence. "Unfair!" thought Doris, breathlessly watching the contest
of wits. "Oh, if she weren't a woman, Arthur could easily beat her!"

But she was a woman, and not at all unwilling, when hard pressed, to
take advantage of that fact.

All the same, Meadows was stirred to most unwonted efforts. He proved to
be an antagonist worth her steel; and Doris's heart swelled with secret
pride as she saw how all the other voices died down, how more and more
people came up to listen, even the young men and maidens,--throwing
themselves on the grass, around the two disputants. Finally Lady
Dunstable carried off the honours. Had she not seen Lord Beaconsfield
twice during the fatal week of his last general election, when England