"I devoutly hope there would be somebody ready to do something more to the point," said Lady Selina, hastily. "But of course we have enthusiasms too."
"What, the Flag—and the Throne—that kind of thing?"
The ironical attention which Wharton began at this moment to devote to the selection of an olive annoyed his companion.
"Yes," she repeated emphatically, "the Flag and the Throne—all that has made England great in the past. But we know very well that they are not your enthusiasms."
Wharton's upper lip twitched a little.
"And you are quite sure that Busbridge Towers has nothing to do with it?" he said suddenly, looking round upon her.
Busbridge Towers was the fine ancestral seat which belonged to Lady Selina's father, that very respectable and ancient peer, Lord Alresford, whom an ungrateful party had unaccountably omitted—for the first time—from the latest Conservative administration.
"Of course we perfectly understand," replied Lady Selina, scornfully, "that your side—and especially your Socialist friends, put down all that we do and say to greed and selfishness. It is our misfortune—hardly our fault."
"Not at all," said Wharton, quietly, "I was only trying to convince you that it is a little difficult to drive feeling out of politics. Do you suppose our host succeeds? You perceive?—this is a Radical house—and a Radical banquet?"
He pushed the menu towards her significantly. Then his eye travelled with its usual keen rapidity over the room, over the splendid dinner-table, with its display of flowers and plate, and over the assembled guests. He and Lady Selina were dining at the hospitable board of a certain rich manufacturer, who drew enormous revenues from the west, had formed part of the Radical contingent of the last Liberal ministry, and had especially distinguished himself by a series of uncompromising attacks on the ground landlords of London.