A rustle in the hall announced another guest.  Mrs. Fotheringham entered.  Marsham’s sister dressed with severity; and as she approached her cousin she put up her eye-glass for what was evidently a hostile inspection of the dazzling effect presented by the young lady.  But Alicia was not afraid of Mrs. Fotheringham.

“How early we are!” she said, still quietly looking at the reflection of herself in the mirror over the mantel-piece and warming a slender foot at the fire.  “Haven’t some more people arrived, Cousin Isabel?  I thought I heard a carriage while I was dressing.”

“Yes; Miss Vincent and three men came by the late train.”

“All Labor members?” asked Alicia, with a laugh.

Mrs. Fotheringham explained, with some tartness, that only one of the three was a Labor member—­Mr. Barton.  Of the other two, one was Edgar Frobisher, the other Mr. McEwart, a Liberal M.P., who had just won a hotly contested bye-election.  At the name of Edgar Frobisher, Miss Drake’s countenance showed some animation.  She inquired if he had been doing anything madder than usual.  Mrs. Fotheringham replied, without enthusiasm, that she knew nothing about his recent doings—­nor about Mr. McEwart, who was said, however, to be of the right stuff.  Mr. Barton, on the other hand, “is a great friend of mine—­and a most remarkable man.  Oliver has been very lucky to get him.”

Alicia inquired whether he was likely to appear in dress clothes.

“Certainly not.  He never does anything out of keeping with his class—­and he knows that we lay no stress on that kind of thing.”  This, with another glance at the elegant Paris frock which adorned the person of Alicia—­a frock, in Mrs. Fotheringham’s opinion, far too expensive for the girl’s circumstances.  Alicia received the glance without flinching.  It was one of her good points that she was never meek with the people who disliked her.  She merely threw out another inquiry as to “Miss Vincent.”

“One of mamma’s acquaintances.  She was a private secretary to some one mamma knows, and she is going to do some work for Oliver when the session begins.

“Didn’t Oliver tell me she is a Socialist?”

Mrs. Fotheringham believed it might be said.

“How Miss Mallory will enjoy herself!” said Alicia, with a little laugh.

“Have you been talking to Oliver about her?” Mrs. Fotheringham stared rather hard at her cousin.

“Of course.  Oliver likes her.”

“Oliver likes a good many people.”

“Oh no, Cousin Isabel!  Oliver likes very few people—­very, very few,” said Miss Drake, decidedly, looking down into the fire.

“I don’t know why you give Oliver such an unamiable character!  In my opinion, he is often not so much on his guard as I should like to see him.”

“Oh, well, we can’t all be as critical as you, dear Cousin Isabel!  But, anyway, Oliver admires Miss Mallory extremely.  We can all see that.”