“I have sometimes thought, Sally—­if you will forgive my putting it brutally—­that you are half a Radical yourself.”

Thereat, after a moment’s pause, the lady laughed musically.  Almost in the darkness you could see her throwing back her head and laughing.  She had a noble contralto voice, with a rich mannish purr in it.

“You are mistaken, Elphinstone.  But even so, my excellent brother, you might understand it—­if your estate lay in the west and ran with Miles Chandon’s.”

Tilda’s small body stiffened with a gasp, ’Miles Chandon’—­the name had sounded on her hearing distinct as the note of a bell.  There was no mistake:  it hummed in her ears yet.  Or was it the blood rushing to her ears as she sat bolt upright in the darkness, listening, breathing hard?

Sir Elphinstone, for some reason, had not answered his sister.  When at length he spoke, it was in a changed tone, at once careless and more affectionate.

“See anything of Chandon in these days?”

“Nothing at all; or—­to put the same thing differently—­just so much of him as his tenants see.  We were talking of tenantry.  Miles Chandon leaves everything to his steward.  Now, between ourselves, all stewards, land agents, bailiffs—­whatever you choose to call ’em—­are the curse of our system, and Miles Chandon’s happens to be the worst specimen.”

“H’m,” said Sir Elphinstone reflectively.  “Poor devil!” he added, a few moments later, and then—­Miss Sally giving him no encouragement to pursue the subject—­“Ten minutes past seven—­the car will be waiting.  What do you say to getting home for dinner?”

“If I may bring the Ham.”  Miss Sally laughed and pushed back her chair.  “Wait a minute—­we will wrap it up in the poem.  ’Exit Atalanta, carrying her Ham in a newspaper’—­how deliciously vulgar!  Elphinstone, you have always been the best of brothers; you are behaving beautifully—­and—­and I never could resist shocking you; but we’re pretty fond of one another, eh?”

“I’ve consistently spoilt you, if that’s what you mean,” he grumbled.

They were leaving the platform.  Tilda whispered to the boy to take hold of ’Dolph.

“And I’m goin’ to leave yer for a bit.”  She edged past him on hands and knees towards the vallance draperies.  “You ’eard what she said?  Well, keep quiet ‘ere an’ don’t be frightened.  If Sam comes, tell ’im I’ll be back in five minutes.”

She dived out beneath the vallance, caught a glimpse of Miss Sally and Sir Elphinstone making their way at a brisk pace through the crowd, and hurried up the slope in pursuit.  It was difficult to keep them in sight, for everyone made way upon recognising them, but showed less consideration for a small panting child; and the head of the field, by the exit gate, was packed by a most exasperating throng pressing to admire a giant motor-car that waited in the roadway with lamps blazing and a couple of men in chauffeurs’