"Certainly. They can't have taken more than an hour to speechify after
the declaration of the poll. And I know William meant to catch that
train if he possibly could."

"And take his seat this evening?"

Lady Tranmore nodded. She moved restlessly about the room, fidgeting
with a book here and there, and evidently full of thoughts. Mary Lyster
watched her a little longer, then quietly took up her work again. Her
air of well-bred sympathy, the measured ease of her movements,
contrasted with Lady Tranmore's impatience. Yet in truth she was
listening no less sharply than her companion to the sounds in the
street outside.

Lady Tranmore made her way to the window, and stood there looking out on
the park. It was the week before Easter, and the plane-trees were not
yet in leaf. But a few thorns inside the park railings were already
lavishly green and there was a glitter of spring flowers beside the park
walks, not showing, however, in such glorious abundance as became the
fashion a few years later. It was a mild afternoon and the drive was
full of carriages. From the bow-window of the old irregular house in
which she stood, Lady Tranmore could watch the throng passing and
repassing, could see also the traffic in Park Lane on either side.
London, from this point of sight, wore a cheerful, friendly air. The dim
sunshine, the white-clouded sky, the touches of reviving green and
flowers, the soft air blowing in from a farther window which was open,
brought with them impressions of spring, of promise, and rebirth, which
insensibly affected Lady Tranmore.

"Well, I wonder what William will do, this time, in Parliament!" she