"I wonder what _he_'ll think of Arthur's speech--and whether he's
seen Coryston. I wonder whether he knows there's going to be an awful row
to-night. Coryston's mad!"

Coryston was her eldest brother, and she was very fond of him. But the way
he had been behaving!--the way he had been defying mamma!--it was really
ridiculous. What could he expect?

She seemed to be talking to the distant face, defending her mother and
herself with a kind of unwilling deference.

"After all, do I really care what he thinks?"

She turned and went her way to the tearoom. As she entered it she saw some
acquaintances at the farther end, who waved their hands to her, beckoning
her to join them. She hastened across the room, much observed by the way,
and conscious of the eyes upon her. It was a relief to find herself among a
group of chattering people.

Meanwhile at the other end of the room three ladies were finishing their
tea. Two of them were the wives of Liberal Ministers--by name, Mrs. Verity
and Mrs. Frant. The third was already a well-known figure in London society
and in the precincts of the House of Commons--the Ladies' Gallery, the
Terrace, the dining-rooms--though she was but an unmarried girl of two-and-
twenty. Quite apart, however, from her own qualities and claims, Enid
Glenwilliam was conspicuous as the only daughter of the most vigorously
hated and ardently followed man of the moment--the North Country miner's
agent, who was now England's Finance Minister.