“I made acquaintance with him and Lady Lucy on the Riviera.”

Mr. Bobbie observed her with a shrewd eye.  In spite of his inattention of the night before, the interest of Miss Mallory’s appearance upon the scene at Tallyn had not been lost upon him, any more than upon other people.  The rumor had preceded her arrival that Marsham had been very much “smitten” with her amid the pine woods of Portofino.  Marsham’s taste was good—­emphatically good.  At the same time it was clear that the lady was no mere facile and commonplace girl.  It was Forbes’s opinion, based on the scene of the previous evening, that there might be a good deal of wooing to be done.

* * * * *

“There are so many things I wanted to show you—­and to talk about!” said Oliver Marsham, confidentially, to Diana, in the hall after breakfast—­“but this horrid shoot will take up all the day!  If the weather is not too bad, I think some of the ladies meant to join us at luncheon.  Will you venture?”

His tone was earnest; his eyes indorsed it.  Diana hoped it might be possible to come.  Marsham lingered beside her to the last minute; but presently final orders had to be given to keepers, and country neighbors began to arrive.

“They do the thing here on an enormous scale,” said Bobbie Forbes, lounging and smoking beside Diana; “it’s almost the biggest shoot in the county.  Amusing, isn’t it?—­in this Radical house.  Do you see that man McEwart?”

Diana turned her attention upon the young member of Parliament who had arrived the night before—­plain, sandy-haired, with a long flat-backed head, and a gentlemanly manner.

“I suspect a good deal’s going on here behind the scenes,” said Bobbie, dropping his voice.  “That man Barton may be a fool to talk, but he’s a great power in the House with the other Labor men.  And McEwart has been hand and glove with Marsham all this Session.  They’re trying to force Ferrier’s hand.  Some Bill the Labor men want—­and Ferrier won’t hear of.  A good many people say we shall see Marsham at the head of a Fourth Party of his own very soon, Se soumettre, ou se demettre!—­well, it may come to that—­for old Ferrier.  But I’ll back him to fight his way through.”

“How can Mr. Marsham oppose him?” asked Diana, in wonder, and some indignation with her companion.  “He is the Leader of the party, and besides—­they are such friends!”

Forbes looked rather amused at her womanish view of things.  “Friends?  I should rather think so!”

By this time he and Diana were strolling up and down the winter garden opening out of the hall, which was now full of a merry crowd waiting for the departure of the shooters.  Suddenly Forbes paused.

“Do you see that?”

Diana’s eyes followed his till they perceived Lady Lucy sitting a little way off under a camellia-tree covered with red blossom.  Her lap was heaped with the letters of the morning.  Mr. Ferrier, with a cigarette in his mouth, stood beside her, reading the sheets of a letter which she handed to him as she herself finished them.  Every now and then she spoke to him, and he replied.  In the little scene, between the slender white-haired woman and the middle-aged man, there was something so intimate, so conjugal even, that Diana involuntarily turned away as though to watch it were an impertinence.