The train which carried Alethia towards her destination was a local one,
with the wayside station habit strongly developed. At most of the
stations no one seemed to want to get into the train or to leave it, but
at one there were several market folk on the platform, and two men, of
the farmer or small cattle-dealer class, entered Alethia's carriage.
Apparently they had just foregathered, after a day's business, and their
conversation consisted of a rapid exchange of short friendly inquiries as
to health, family, stock, and so forth, and some grumbling remarks on the
weather. Suddenly, however, their talk took a dramatically interesting
turn, and Alethia listened with wide-eyed attention.

"What do you think of Mister Robert Bludward, eh?"

There was a certain scornful ring in his question.

"Robert Bludward? An out-an'-out rotter, that's what he is. Ought to be
ashamed to look any decent man in the face. Send him to Parliament to
represent us--not much! He'd rob a poor man of his last shilling, he
would."

"Ah, that he would. Tells a pack of lies to get our votes, that's all
that he's after, damn him. Did you see the way the _Argus_ showed him up
this week? Properly exposed him, hip and thigh, I tell you."

And so on they ran, in their withering indictment. There could be no
doubt that it was Alethia's cousin and prospective host to whom they were
referring; the allusion to a Parliamentary candidature settled that. What
could Robert Bludward have done, what manner of man could he be, that
people should speak of him with such obvious reprobation?