justice of our cause—­and at the same time give them our help—­in reason—­show them we want to be their friends—­wouldn’t it be best?  I don’t know whether I put it rightly—­you know so much about these things!  But we can’t undo ’67—­can we?  We must get round it somehow—­mustn’t we?  And my father thinks Ministers so unwise!  But perhaps”—­and Lady Selina drew herself back with a more gracious smile than ever—­“I ought not to be saying these things to you—­of course I know you used to think us Conservatives very bad people—­but Mr. Wharton tells me, perhaps you don’t think quite so hardly of us as you used?”

Lady Selina’s head in its Paris bonnet fell to one side in a gentle interrogative sort of way.

Something roused in Marcella.

“Our cause?” she repeated, while the dark eye dilated—­“I wonder what you mean?”

“Well, I mean—­” said Lady Selina, seeking for the harmless word, in the face of this unknown explosive-looking girl—­“I mean, of course, the cause of the educated—­of the people who have made the country.”

“I think,” said Marcella, quietly, “you mean the cause of the rich, don’t you?”

“Marcella!” cried Lady Winterbourne, catching at the tone rather than words—­“I thought you didn’t feel like that any more—­not about the distance between the poor and the rich—­and our tyranny—­and its being hopeless—­and the poor always hating us—­I thought you changed.”

And forgetting Lady Selina, remembering only the old talks at Mellor, Lady Winterbourne bent forward and laid an appealing hand on Marcella’s arm.

Marcella turned to her with an odd look.

“If you only knew,” she said, “how much more possible it is to think well of the rich, when you are living amongst the poor!”

“Ah! you must be at a distance from us to do us justice?” enquired Lady Selina, settling her bracelets with a sarcastic lip.

“I must,” said Marcella, looking, however, not at her, but at Lady Winterbourne.  “But then, you see,”—­she caressed her friend’s hand with a smile—­“it is so easy to throw some people into opposition!”

“Dreadfully easy!” sighed Lady Winterbourne.

The flush mounted again in the girl’s cheek.  She hesitated, then felt driven to explanations.

“You see—­oddly enough”—­she pointed away for an instant to the north-east through the open window—­“it’s when I’m over there—­among the people who have nothing—­that it does me good to remember that there are persons who live in James Street, Buckingham Gate!”

“My dear!  I don’t understand,” said Lady Winterbourne, studying her with her most perplexed and tragic air.

“Well, isn’t it simple?” said Marcella, still holding her hand and looking up at her.  “It comes, I suppose, of going about all day in those streets and houses, among people who live in one room—­with not a bit of prettiness anywhere—­and no place to be alone in, or to rest in.  I come home and gloat over all the beautiful dresses and houses and gardens I can think of!”