But Patricia still hesitated. The thought of being a guest at Mr. Moore’s table was so repugnant that it could scarcely be tolerated; yet she felt a secret curiosity to meet the great anti-Semite again. She would, at least, have something of interest to report to Lionel; and although she could not introduce the subject of the Expulsion, she might indirectly glean an inkling of the Premier’s views. So—not without misgivings—she yielded, and promised to be there by the appointed time. Whether good or evil would come of the visit, however, remained to be seen; and as she left her friend, she felt as if she were about to trifle with edged tools. CHAPTER II AN ANTI-SEMITE STILL The “she-dragon,” as Mamie unkindly dubbed Mrs. Lowther, did not care to accept the invitation to Ravenscroft Hall, and asked to be excused; so Patricia dressed herself in a simple evening-gown and drove off alone. Excitement had lent a touch of colour to her cheeks, and as the carriage swept up the avenue she trifled nervously with her long neck-chain of pearls. Arrived at the house, however, she soon regained her self-possession, and followed the footman up the stone staircase with her usual equanimity. The Countess received her with cordiality; but seemed curiously diffident. She glanced at the door every now and then with marked uneasiness; her mind was evidently—on some account—disturbed. “The doctor has not been yet,” she said, in answer to Patricia’s enquiry. “I am expecting him every minute. I don’t quite like the look of Phyllis; she has been shivering so terribly. I do hope she isn’t going to be ill.” “Has Mr. Moore seen her?” “No, he has not arrived yet, but he will be here soon. He wired that he is bringing Mr. Lawson Holmes back with him.” Her brow grew troubled. “I want to keep him away from Phyllis until after dinner, when I hope the doctor will have been. The children always come in to dessert, you know.” The words had scarcely passed her lips when the scrunch of carriage wheels on the gravel approached them, and the hall door closed with a heavy sound. A moment later the men’s voices were heard on the stairs, as they parted to go to their respective rooms. The Countess, excusing herself to her guest, went dutifully to greet her husband; but she returned before Patricia had time to notice her absence, and together they descended to the rooms below. “I think you will find a great change in Athelstan,” she said, as Patricia glanced at the large portrait of the Premier which adorned the wall. “He has aged terribly during the last three years, and suffers from periodical fits of depression which seem to take all the life out of him. The doctors cannot account for it, and put it down to overwork. But I believe I know what it is: there is something preying on his mind.” “Yes?” Patricia looked up half wonderingly. “I suppose he is troubled about State affairs?” The Countess waxed confidential.