Aldous explained the position of affairs, and Hallin expressed his sympathy.  He had a singularly attractive voice, the voice indeed of the orator, which can adapt itself with equal charm and strength to the most various needs and to any pitch.  As he spoke, Marcella was conscious of a sudden impression that she already knew him and could be herself with him at once.

“Oh, I say,” broke in young Leven, who was standing behind; “don’t you be bothered with us, Miss Boyce.  Just send us back at once.  I’m awfully sorry!”

“No; you are to come in!” she said, smiling through her pallor, which was beginning to pass away, and putting out her hand to him—­the young Eton and Oxford athlete, just home for his Christmas vacation, was a great favourite with her—­“You must come and have tea and cheer me up by telling me all the things you have killed this week.  Is there anything left alive?  You had come down to the fieldfares, you know, last Tuesday.”

He followed her, laughing and protesting, and she led the way to the drawing-room.  But as her fingers were on the handle she once more caught sight of the maid, Deacon, standing on the stairs, and ran to speak to her.

“He is better,” she said, coming back with a face of glad relief.  “The attack seems to be passing off.  Mamma can’t come down, but she begs that we will all enjoy ourselves.”

“We’ll endeavour,” said young Leven, rubbing his hands, “by the help of tea.  Miss Boyce, will you please tell Aldous and Mr. Hallin not to talk politics when they’re taking me out to a party.  They should fight a man of their own size.  I’m all limp and trampled on, and want you to protect me.”

The group moved, laughing and talking, into the drawing-room.

“Jiminy!” said Leven, stopping short behind Aldous, who was alone conscious of the lad’s indignant astonishment; “what the deuce is he doing here?”

For there on the rug, with his back to the fire, stood Wharton, surveying the party with his usual smiling aplomb.

“Mr. Hallin, do you know Mr. Wharton?” said Marcella.

“Mr. Wharton and I have met several times on public platforms,” said Hallin, holding out his hand, which Wharton took with effusion.  Aldous greeted him with the impassive manner, the “three finger” manner, which was with him an inheritance—­though not from his grandfather—­and did not contribute to his popularity in the neighbourhood.  As for young Leven, he barely nodded to the Radical candidate, and threw himself into a chair as far from the fire as possible.

“Frank and I have met before to-day!” said Wharton, laughing.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to undo some of your mischief,” said the boy, bluntly.  “I found him, Miss Boyce, haranguing a lot of men at the dinner-hour at Tudley End—­one of our villages, you know—­cramming them like anything—­all about the game laws, and our misdeeds—­my father’s, of course.”