“Mind!—­How could I be anything but grateful?  It puzzles me so—­this—­” she hesitated.

“This English life?—­especially the political life?  Well!—­let me be your guide.  I have been in it for a long while.”

Diana thanked him, and rose.

“You want your room?” he asked her, kindly.—­“Mrs. Fotheringham, I think, is in the drawing-room.  Let me take you to her.  But, first, look at two or three of these pictures as you go.”

“These—­pictures?” faltered Diana, looking round her, her tone changing.

“Oh, not those horrible frescos!  Those were perpetrated by Marsham’s father.  They represent, as you see, the different processes of the Iron Trade.  Old Henry Marsham liked them, because, as he said, they explained him, and the house.  Oliver would like to whitewash them—­but for filial piety.  People might suppose him ashamed of his origin.  No, no!—­I mean those two or three old pictures at the end of the room.  Come and look at them—­they are on our way.”

He led her to inspect them.  They proved to be two Gainsboroughs and a Raeburn, representing ancestors on Lady Lucy’s side.  Mr. Ferrier’s talk of them showed his intimate knowledge both of Varleys and Marshams, the knowledge rather of a kinsman than a friend.  Diana perceived, indeed, how great must be the affection, the intimacy, between him and them.

Meanwhile, as the man of fifty and the slender girl in black passed before him, on their way to examine the pictures, Sir James Chide, casually looking up, was apparently struck by some rapid and powerful impression.  It arrested the hand playing with the dog; it held and transformed the whole man.  His eyes, open as though in astonishment or pain, followed every movement of Diana, scrutinized every look and gesture.  His face had flushed slightly—­his lips were parted.  He had the aspect of one trying eagerly, passionately, to follow up some clew that would not unwind itself; and every now and then he bent forward—­listening—­trying to catch her voice.

Presently the inspection was over.  Diana turned and beckoned to Mrs. Colwood.  The two ladies went toward the drawing-room, Mr. Ferrier showing the way.

When he returned to the hall, Sir James Chide, its sole occupant, was walking up and down.

“Who was that young lady?” said Sir James, turning abruptly.

“Isn’t she charming?  Her name is Mallory—­and she has just settled at Beechcote, near here.  That small fair lady was her companion.  Oliver tells me she is an orphan—­well off—­with no kith or kin.  She has just come to England, it seems, for the first time.  Her father brought her up abroad away from everybody.  She will have a success!  But of all the little Jingoes!”

Mr. Ferrier’s face expressed an amused recollection of some of Diana’s speeches.

“Mallory?” said Sir James, under his breath—­“Mallory?” He walked to the window, and stood looking out, his hands in his pockets.