"We beg that you will send us a telegram, informing us by what, train you are travelling, and we will send a messenger to Derby, who will confer with you as to the best means of reaching the rooms which we are providing for you.
"Anticipating your visit,
"I am,
"Faithfully yours,
"WILLIAM PRESTON,
"Secretary Manchester Labour Party."
Maraton replaced the letters in their envelopes and turned with them in his hand, towards Julia. She had moved a little towards the open French windows. Every one seemed to have made their way out on to the lawn. Chinese lanterns were hanging from some of the trees and along the straight box hedge that led to the rose gardens. The women were strolling about in their evening gowns, without wraps or covering, and the men had joined them. Servants were passing coffee around, served from a table on which stood a little row of bottles, filled with various liqueurs. Some one in the drawing-room was singing, but the voice was suddenly silenced. Every one turned their heads. A little further back in the woods, a nightingale had commenced to sing.
"You are tired," Maraton whispered.
She shook her head. The strained, anxious look was still in her face.
"No," she replied in a low tone, "I am not tired."