The handsome old man raised an oratorical hand, and looked round on his audience, like one to whom public speaking was second nature.

Anderson made a gesture of assent; he was not really expected to say anything.  Mariette in the background observed the speaker with an amused and critical detachment.

“Your carriage will be round directly, Lord Waynflete,” said Philip, “but I don’t see why you should go.”

“My dear fellow—­I have to catch the night train.  There is a most important debate in the House of Lords to-morrow.”  He turned to the Canadian politely.  “Of course you know there is an autumn session on.  With these Radical Governments we shall soon have one every year.”

“What! the Education Bill again to-morrow?” said Everett.  “What are you going to do with it?”

Lord Waynflete looked at the speaker with some distaste.  He did not much approve of sporting parsons, and Everett’s opinions were too Liberal to please him.  But he let himself be drawn, and soon the whole room was in eager debate on some of the old hot issues between Church and Dissent.  Lord Waynflete ceased to be merely fatuous and kindly.  His talk became shrewd, statesmanlike even; he was the typical English aristocrat and Anglican Churchman, discussing topics with which he had been familiar from his cradle, and in a manner and tone which every man in the room—­save the two Canadians—­accepted without question.  He was the natural leader of these men of the land-owning or military class; they liked to hear him harangue; and harangue he did, till the striking of a clock suddenly checked him.

“I must be off!  Well, Mrs. Gaddesden, it’s the Church—­the Church we have to think of!—­the Church we have to fight for!  What would England be without the Church—­let’s ask ourselves that.  Good-bye—­good-bye!”

“Is he talking of the Anglican establishment?” muttered Mariette. “Quel drole de vieillard!”

The parson heard him, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, turned and proposed to show the French Canadian the famous library of the house.

The party melted away.  Even Elizabeth had been summoned for some last word with Lord Waynflete on the subject of the opening of the Town Hall.  Anderson was left alone.

He looked around him, at the room, the pictures, the panelled walls, and then moving to the window which was still unshuttered, he gazed out into the starlit dusk, and the dim, stately landscape.  There were lights in the church showing the stained glass of the perpendicular windows, and a flight of rooks was circling round the old tower.

As he stood there, somebody came back into the room.  It was the adjutant, looking for his hat.

“Jolly old place, isn’t it?” said the young man civilly, seeing that the stranger was studying the view.  “It’s to be hoped that Philip will keep it up properly.”

“He seems fond of it,” said Anderson.