The familiarity of her words, half whispered in his ear, the delightful suggestion of some confidential understanding between them, were alike fascinating to him.  In her plain white serge coat and skirt, and smart hat—­she had just come in from walking in the park—­she seemed to him to represent so perfectly the very best and most delightful type of womanhood.  Her complexion was perfect, her skin fresh as a child’s.  She carried herself with the spring and grace of one who walks through life self-confidently, fortified always with the knowledge that she was a favourite with women as well as with men.  He sat by her side at luncheon and he could not help admiring the delicate tact with which she prevented the conversation from ever remaining more than a few seconds in channels which might have made him feel something of an alien.  There was another nephew of Mr. Foley’s there, a famous polo player and sportsman; Lord Carton, whose eyes seldom left Elisabeth’s face; Sir William Blend, the great lawyer; Mr. Horrill and Lord Armley.  These, with Elisabeth’s mother and herself, made up the party.

“I think I am going to bar politics,” Lady Grenside said, as she took her place.

“Impossible!” Mr. Foley retorted, in high good humour.  “This is a political luncheon.  We have great and weighty matters to discuss.  You women are permitted to be present, but we allot to you the hardest task of all—­silence.”

“A sheer impossibility, so far as mother is concerned,” Elisabeth observed.  “As for me, I call myself a practical politician.  I intend to take part in the discussion.”

Mr. Foley looked across the round table with twinkling eyes.

“We are going to talk about Universal Manhood Suffrage,” he announced.

“Scandalous,” Elisabeth declared, “before we have our votes!”

“Perhaps,” Maraton suggested, “it was Universal Suffrage that Mr. Foley meant.”

“Including children and aliens,” Lady Grenside remarked.  “I am sure the children at the school I went over yesterday could have ruled the nation admirably.  They seemed to know positively everything.”

“Mother, you are too frivolous,” Elisabeth insisted.  “If this tone of levity is not dropped, I shall start another subject of conversation.  Mr. Maraton, you, of course, are in favour of Universal Manhood Suffrage?”

“I am not at all sure about it,” he replied.  “It gives the vote to a lot of people I’d sooner see deported.”

“But you—­you to talk like that!” she exclaimed.

He smiled.

“Votes should belong to those who have a stake in the country, not to the flotsam and jetsam,” he continued solemnly.

“But you’re a Tory!” she cried.

“Not a bit,” he answered.  “If I had my way, you would very soon see that one man wouldn’t have so much more stake in the country than another.  Then Universal Suffrage follows automatically—­in fact that’s the way I’d arrive at it.”