"Nothing; only it's odd. I ran across them just now—I was playing ball with that jolly little imp, Hallin. You never saw two people more absorbed. Of course he's sous le charme—we all are. Our English politics are rather rum, aren't they? They don't indulge in this amiable country-house business in a South American republic, you know. They prefer shooting."
"And you evidently think it a healthier state of things. Wait till we come to something nearer to our hearths and bosoms than Factory Acts," said Betty, with the wisdom of her kind. "All the same, Lord Fontenoy is in earnest."
"Oh yes, Fontenoy is in earnest. So, I suppose, is Tressady. So—good
Heavens!—is Maxwell. I say, here comes the church party."
And from a side-door in a venerable wall, beyond which could be seen the tower of a little church, there emerged a small group of people—Mrs. Allison, Lady Cathedine, and Madeleine Penley in front, escorted by the white-haired Sir Philip; and behind, Lady Tressady, between Harding Watton and Lord Cathedine.
"Cathedine!" cried Naseby, staring at the group. "Cathedine been to church?"
"For the purpose, I suppose, of disappointing poor Laura, who might have hoped to get rid of him," said Betty, sharply. "No!—if I were Mrs. Allison I should draw the line at Lord Cathedine."
"Nobody need see any more of Cathedine than they want," said Naseby, calmly; "and, of course, he behaves himself here. Moreover, there is no doubt at all about his brains. They say Fontenoy expects to make great use of him in the Lords."
"By the way," said Betty, turning round upon him, "where are you?"
"Well, thank God! I'm not in Parliament," was Naseby's smiling reply. "So don't trouble me for opinions. I have none. Except that, speaking generally, I should like Lady Maxwell to get what she wants."
Betty threw him a sly glance, wondering if she might tease him about the news she heard of him from Marcella.