’Here comes Mr. Lydiard; and let me assure you, if I may take the liberty of introducing him, he is no true Radical.  He is a philosopher—­one of the flirts, the butterflies of politics, as Dr. Shrapnel calls them.’

Beauchamp hummed over some improvized trifles to Lydiard, then introduced him cursorily, and all walked in the direction of Itchincope.  It was really the Mr. Lydiard Mrs. Devereux had met in Spain, so they were left in the rear to discuss their travels.  Much conversation did not go on in front.  Cecilia was very reserved.  By-and-by she said, ’I am glad you have come into the country early to-day.’

He spoke rapturously of the fresh air, and not too mildly of his pleasure in meeting her.  Quite off her guard, she began to hope he was getting to be one of them again, until she heard him tell Lord Palmet that he had come early out of Bevisham for the walk with Dr. Shrapnel, and to call on certain rich tradesmen living near Itchincope.  He mentioned the name of Dollikins.

‘Dollikins?’ Palmet consulted a perturbed recollection.  Among the entangled list of new names he had gathered recently from the study of politics, Dollikins rang in his head.  He shouted, ’Yes, Dollikins! to be sure.  Lespel has him to lunch to-day;—­calls him a gentleman-tradesman; odd fish! and told a fellow called—­where is it now?—­a name like brass or copper . . .  Copperstone?  Brasspot? . . . told him he’d do well to keep his Tory cheek out of sight.  It ’s the names of those fellows bother one so!  All the rest’s easy.’

‘You are evidently in a state of confusion, Lord Palmet,’ said Cecilia.

The tone of rebuke and admonishment was unperceived.  ’Not about the facts,’ he rejoined.  ’I ’m for fair play all round; no trickery.  I tell Beauchamp all I know, just as I told you this morning, Miss Halkett.  What I don’t like is Lespel turning Tory.’

Cecilia put a stop to his indiscretions by halting for Mrs. Devereux, and saying to Beauchamp, ’If your friend would return to Bevisham by rail, this is the nearest point to the station.’

Palmet, best-natured of men, though generally prompted by some of his peculiar motives, dismounted from his horse, leaving him to Beauchamp, that he might conduct Mr. Lydiard to the station, and perhaps hear a word of Miss Denham:  at any rate be able to form a guess as to the secret of that art of his, which had in the space of an hour restored a happy and luminous vivacity to the languid Mrs. Wardour-Devereux.

CHAPTER XXI

The question as to the examination of the whigs, and the fine blow struck by Mr. Everard Romfrey

Itchincope was famous for its hospitality.  Yet Beauchamp, when in the presence of his hostess, could see that he was both unexpected and unwelcome.  Mrs. Lespel was unable to conceal it; she looked meaningly at Cecilia, talked of the house being very full, and her husband engaged till late in the afternoon.  And Captain Baskelett had arrived on a sudden, she said.  And the luncheon-table in the dining-room could not possibly hold more.