"I am ashamed of you both," said Sidney hotly, a warm colour creeping up into her cheeks. "If you love your country, you must be interested in them. It is sheer laziness with you, Austin, and you know it."
Randolph turned to her.
"What part are you going to take in these political dinners, Miss Urquhart?"
"Oh, I shall be a listener, and perhaps try a little persuasion with one or two stiff-necked old squires, for I want Sir Walter Rame to succeed. He isn't of this county, but he rents a big place here, and is honest and upright, I am sure."
Randolph was silent again. He doubted the sincerity of a would-be member.
Sidney looked at him a little deprecatingly.
"Forgive me, Mr. Neville; I don't know you well enough to scold you, do I? But I can't bear to think that there are some Englishmen who wash their hands of politics because they cannot purge them of all self-seeking and knavery. There is always good leaven in them, and we want to increase that, not decrease it. A good captain never deserts an old ship."
"It's only the rats," said Randolph, meeting her earnest gaze with twinkling eyes. "I'm a bad rat and a sad rat, and I shan't be missed."
"Look here," broke in Austin; "I didn't bring you up here, Sid, to talk politics. Let us try another subject. Look at the ocean. Are you keen on fishing? I'm going out to-night with an old salt—a great pal of mine. Will you make a third?"
Randolph and Austin plunged into an animated talk of fish in general. Sidney moved away. She loved the wide expanse of earth and sky, and the fresh keen air invigorated and refreshed her. Sitting down and leaning her back against a rock she wondered why, at a high altitude, the troubles and worries of daily life seemed so small and insignificant.