We can all see that."
The girl turned a steady face on her companion. Mrs. Fotheringham was
conscious of a certain secret admiration. But her own point of view had
nothing to do with Miss Drake's.
"It amuses him to talk to her," she said, sharply; "I am sure I hope it
won't come to anything more. It would be very unsuitable."
"Why? Politics? Oh! that doesn't matter a bit."
"I beg your pardon. Oliver is becoming an important man, and it will
never do for him to hamper himself with a wife who cannot sympathize
with any of his enthusiasms and ideals."
Miss Drake shrugged her shoulders.
"He would convert her--and he likes triumphing. Oh! Cousin Isabel!--look
at that lamp!"
An oil lamp in an inner drawing-room, placed to illuminate an easel
portrait of Lady Lucy, was smoking atrociously. The two ladies' flew
toward it, and were soon lost to sight and hearing amid a labyrinth of
furniture and palms.
The place they left vacant was almost immediately filled by Oliver
Marsham himself, who came in studying a pencilled paper, containing the
names of the guests. He and his mother had not found the dinner very
easy to arrange.
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