Meanwhile, if Mr. Ferrier was making discoveries, so was Diana. A man,
it appeared, could be not only one of the busiest and most powerful
politicians in England, but also a philosopher, and a reader, one whose
secret tastes were as unworldly and romantic as her own. Books, music,
art--he could handle these subjects no less skilfully than others
political or personal. And, throughout, his deference to a young and
pretty woman was never at fault. Diana was encouraged to talk, and then,
without a word of flattery, given to understand that her talk pleased.
Under this stimulus, her soft dark beauty was soon glowing at its best;
innocence, intelligence, and youth, spread as it were their tendrils
to the sun.

Meanwhile, Sir James Chide, a few yards off, was apparently absorbed
partly in the _Times_, partly in the endeavor to make Lady Lucy's fox
terrier go through its tricks.

Once Mr. Ferrier drew Diana's attention to her neighbor.

"You know him?"

"I never saw him before."

"You know who he is?"

"Ought I?--I am so sorry!"

"He is perhaps the greatest criminal advocate we have. And a very
distinguished politician too.--Whenever our party comes in, he will be
in the Cabinet.--You must make him talk this evening."