“I have been ‘gey ill to live with’ since we got up to town.  And when the stupid meeting I had promised to speak at was put off, my mother thought I had gone off my head—­from my behavior.  ’What are you going to the Feltons’ for?—­You never care a bit about them.’  So at last I brought her the map and made her look at it—­’Felton Park to Brinton, 3 miles—­Haylesford, 4 miles—­Beechcote, 2 miles and 1/2—­Beechcote Manor, half a mile—­total, ten miles.’—­’Oliver!’—­she got so red!—­’you are going to propose to Miss Mallory!’ ’Well, mother!—­and what have you got to say?’ So then she smiled—­and kissed me—­and sent you messages—­which I’ll give you when there’s time.  My mother is a rather formidable person—­no one who knew her would ever dream of taking her consent to anything for granted; but this time”—­his laugh was merry—­“I didn’t even think of asking it!”

“I shall love her—­dearly,” murmured Diana.

“Yes, because you won’t be afraid of her.  Her standards are hardly made for this wicked world.  But you’ll hold her—­you’ll manage her.  If you’d said ‘No’ to me, she would have felt cheated of a daughter.”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Fotheringham won’t like it,” said Diana, ruefully, letting herself be gathered again into his arms.

“My sister?  I don’t know what to say about Isabel, dearest—­unless I parody an old saying.  She and I have never agreed—­except in opinion.  We have been on the same side—­and in hot opposition—­since our childhood.  No—­I dare say she will be thorny!  Why did you fight me so well, little rebel?”

He looked down into her dark eyes, revelling in their sweetness, and in the bliss of her surrendered beauty.  If this was not his first proposal, it was his first true passion—­of that he was certain.

She released herself—­rosy—­and still thinking of Mrs. Fotheringham.  “Oliver!”—­she laid her hand shyly on his—­“neither she nor you will want me to stifle what I think—­to deny what I do really believe?  I dare say a woman’s politics aren’t worth much”—­she laughed and sighed.

“I say!—­don’t take that line with Isabel!”

“Well, mine probably aren’t worth much—­but they are mine—­and papa taught them me—­and I can’t give them up.”

“What’ll you do, darling?—­canvass against me?” He kissed her hand again.

“No—­but I can’t agree with you!”

“Of course you can’t.  Which of us, I wonder, will shake the other?  How do you know that I’m not in a blue fright for my principles?”

“You’ll explain to me?—­you’ll not despise me?” she said, softly, bending toward him; “I’ll always, always try and understand.”

Who could resist an attitude so feminine, yet so loyal, at once so old and new?  Marsham felt himself already attacked by the poison of Toryism, and Diana, with a happy start, envisaged horizons that her father never knew, and questions where she had everything to learn.