But as the years passed away her father thought he saw a change in her. She no longer grew impatient when he spoke to her of marriage, and he hoped with a great hope that his old age might be cheered by the shouts of children's voices, and by the thought that his only child had buried a dead past.
CHAPTER XIX
THE MAN WITH THE FEZ
Olive Castlemaine sat on the lawn of her Devonshire home, looking away across the valley towards the moorlands which lay beyond. By her side stood a young fellow of from thirty to thirty-five years of age.
"You don't say you are sorry for me, Miss Castlemaine," he said.
"You are not on my side, you see," she replied, with a smile.
"Would that make a difference? Would you have congratulated me if I were on your side, and won the seat?"
"And if you had lost it—if you had made a good fight."
"You believe in fighting?"