As Mrs. Colwood already knew, Mr. Oliver Marsham, member for the Western division of Brookshire, was young and unmarried.  He lived with his mother, Lady Lucy Marsham, the owner of Tallyn Hall; and his widowed sister, Mrs. Fotheringham, was also a constant inmate of the house.  Mrs. Fotheringham was if possible more extreme in opinions than her brother, frequented platforms, had quarrelled with all her Conservative relations, including a family of stepsons, and supported Women’s Suffrage.  It was evident that Diana was steeling herself to some endurance in this quarter.  As to the other guests whom they might expect, Diana knew little.  She had heard that Mr. Ferrier was to be there—­ex-Home Secretary, and now leader of the Opposition—­and old Lady Niton.  Diana retailed what gossip she knew of this rather famous personage, whom three-fourths of the world found insolent and the rest witty.  “They say, anyway, that she can snub Mrs. Fotheringham,” said Diana, laughing.

“You met them abroad?”

“Only Mr. Marsham and Lady Lucy.  Papa and I were walking over the hills at Portofino.  We fell in with him, and he asked us the way to San Fruttuoso.  We were going there, so we showed him.  Papa liked him, and he came to see us afterwards—­several times.  Lady Lucy came once.”

“She is nice?”

“Oh yes,” said Diana, vaguely, “she is quite beautiful for her age.  You never saw such lovely hands.  And so fastidious—­so dainty!  I remember feeling uncomfortable all the time, because I knew I had a tear in my dress, and my hair was untidy—­and I was certain she noticed.”

“It’s all rather alarming,” said Mrs. Colwood, smiling.

“No, no!”—­Diana turned upon her eagerly.  “They’re very kind—­very, very kind!”

* * * * *

The winter day was nearly gone when they reached their destination.  But there was just light enough, as they stepped out of the carriage, to show a large modern building, built of red brick, with many gables and bow-windows, and a generally restless effect.  As they followed the butler through the outer hall, a babel of voices made itself heard, and when he threw open the door into the inner hall, they found themselves ushered into a large party.

There was a pleased exclamation from a tall fair man standing near the fire, who came forward at once to meet them.

“So glad to see you!  But we hoped for you earlier!  Mother, here is Miss Mallory.”

Lady Lucy, a woman of sixty, still slender and stately, greeted them kindly, Mrs. Colwood was introduced, and room was made for the new-comers in the circle round the tea-table, which was presided over by a lady with red hair and an eye-glass, who gave a hand to Diana, and a bow, or more precisely a nod, to Mrs. Colwood.

“I’m Oliver’s sister—­my name’s Fotheringham.  That’s my cousin—­Madeleine Varley.  Madeleine, find me some cups!  This is Mr. Ferrier—­Mr. Ferrier, Miss Mallory.—­expect you know Lady Niton.—­Sir James Chide, Miss Mallory.—­Perhaps that’ll do to begin with!” said Mrs. Fotheringham, carelessly, glancing at a further group of people.  “Now I’ll give you some tea.”