Enid Glenwilliam waited. While the humming noise drew nearer she lifted the local paper from the ground and looked eagerly at the account of the Martover meeting. The paper was a Radical paper, and it had blossomed into its biggest head-lines for the Chancellor. "Chancellor goes for the Landlords," "Crushing attack," "Tories writhe under it," "Frantic applause."
She put it down, half contemptuous, half pleased. She had grown accustomed to the mouthings of party politics, and could not do without them. But her brain was not taken in by them. "Father was not so good as usual last night," she said to herself. "But nobody else would have been half so good!" she added, with a fierce protectiveness.
And in that spirit she rose to meet the stately lady in black, whom the Atherstones' maid-servant was showing across the garden.
"Miss Glenwilliam, I believe?"
Lady Coryston paused and put up her eyeglass. Enid Glenwilliam advanced, holding out her hand.
"How do you do, Lady Coryston?"
The tone was gay, even amused. Lady Coryston realized at once she was being scanned by a very sharp pair of eyes, and that their owner was, or seemed to be, in no sort of embarrassment. The first advantage, indeed, had been gained by the younger woman. Lady Coryston had approached her with the formality of a stranger. Enid Glenwilliam's easy greetings suggested that they had already met in many drawing-rooms.
Miss Glenwilliam offered a seat.
"Are you afraid of the grass? We could easily go indoors."
"Thank you. This does very well. It was very kind of you to say you would see me."