Coxon gave a laugh of embarrassed vexation.
"I think I go as often as I'm wanted," he said. "To tell you the truth, Kilshaw, I find my lady a little high and mighty."
"Women can never separate politics and persons," observed Kilshaw, with a tolerant smile. "It's no secret, I suppose, that she's not devoted to your chief."
Coxon looked up quickly. His wounded vanity had long sought for an explanation of the cruel rebuff he had endured.
"Well, I never put it down to that," he said.
"It can't be anything in yourself, can it?" asked Kilshaw, in bland innocence. "No, no; Lady Eynesford's one of us, and there's an end of it—though of course I wouldn't say it openly. Look at the different way she treats the Puttocks since they left you!"
"It's highly improper," observed Coxon.
"I grant it; but she's fond of Perry, and sees through his glasses. And then you must allow for her natural prejudices. Is Medland the sort of man who would suit her? Candidly now?"
"She needn't identify us all with Medland?"