“I suppose Alicia has been careering about with him all day?” said Lady Niton.

“Alicia—­and Roland Lankester—­and the chairman of Oliver’s committee.  Now they’ve gone off on the coach, to drive round some of the villages, and thank people.”  Lady Lucy rose as she spoke.

“Not much to thank for, according to you!” observed Lady Niton, grimly.

“Oh, well, he’s in!” Lady Lucy drew a long breath.  “But people have behaved so extraordinarily!  That man—­that clergyman—­at Beechcote—­Mr. Lavery.  He’s been working night and day against Oliver.  Really, I think parsons ought to leave politics alone.”

“Lavery?” said Bobbie.  “I thought he was a Radical.  Weren’t Oliver’s speeches advanced enough to please him?”

“He has been denouncing Oliver as a humbug, because of what he is pleased to call the state of the mining villages.  I’m sure they’re a great, great deal better than they were twenty years ago!” Lady Lucy’s voice was almost piteous.  “However, he very nearly persuaded the miners to run a candidate of their own, and when that fell through, he advised them to abstain from voting.  And they must have done so—­in several villages.  That’s pulled down the majority.”

“Abominable!” said Bobbie, who was comfortably conservative.  “I always said that man was a firebrand.”

“I don’t know what he expects to get by it,” said Lady Lucy, slowly, as she moved toward the door.  Her tone was curiously helpless; she was still stately, but it was a ghostly and pallid stateliness.

“Get by it!” sneered Lady Niton.  “After all, his friends are in.  They say he’s eloquent.  His jackasseries will get him a bishopric in time—­you’ll see.”

“It was the unkindness—­the ill-feeling—­I minded,” said Lady Lucy, in a low voice, leaning heavily upon her stick, and looking straight before her as though she inwardly recalled some of the incidents of the election.  “I never knew anything like it before.”

Lady Niton lifted her eyebrows—­not finding a suitable response.  Did Lucy really not understand what was the matter?—­that her beloved Oliver had earned the reputation throughout the division of a man who can propose to a charming girl, and then desert her for money, at the moment when the tragic blow of her life had fallen upon her?—­and she, that of the mercenary mother who had forced him into it.  Precious lucky for Oliver to have got in at all!

The door closed on Lady Lucy.  Forgetting for an instant what had happened before her hostess entered, Elizabeth Niton, bristling with remarks, turned impetuously toward Forbes.  He had gone back to first editions, and was whistling vigorously as he worked.  With a start, Lady Niton recollected herself.  Her face reddened afresh; she rose, walked with as much majesty as her station admitted to the door, which she closed sharply behind her.