"Not all, your grace," Strone answered, with a gleam in his eye. "Only those who house men and women like rats, who let their property tumble to ruin while they drag the last shilling of their rents from starving men and women. To such as these I would make the criminal laws apply. They are responsible for many human lives--for the lower physique of our race." Lord Sydenham turned round and touched him upon the shoulder. "Strone," he said, "I want to introduce you to my cousin. Beatrice, allow me to present Mr. Strone--Lady Malingcourt." Under the fire of dinner-table talk they relapsed easily enough into more familiar relations. "I am not at all sure that I like you," she said, looking at him critically. "Your dress coat came evidently from Saville Row and your tie is perfection. You are not in character at all. I expected a homespun suit, hobnailed boots, and a flannel shirt. I wasn't sure about the collar, but I counted upon a red tie. Please don't tell me that you are a club man, and that you go to afternoon teas." He laughed. Even his voice was subdued. "No fear of that," he declared. "When I go out it is generally to meat teas in the suburbs or midday dinners with my constituents in Gascester. I have even a red tie of which I am very fond." She stole another glance at him. There were streaks of gray in his black hair, deep lines in his hard, clean-shaven face. If a dinner such as this was a rare event to him, he showed no signs of awkwardness. He joined now and then in the conversation around. Most of the men seemed known to him. "I have read of you," she said abruptly, "of your maiden speech and rapid progress in the House." He lowered his voice. "It was what you wished?" "Nothing has ever given me more pleasure," she said simply. "You got my cable?" He nodded. "Two words only--'Well done.' I have it in my pocket to-night." She abandoned the subject precipitately. "And your social schemes?" "They progress," he answered thoughtfully. "I have had disappointments, but on the whole--yes, I am satisfied. When you are at Gascester, I should like to show you some of my experiments." She talked for a few minutes to her neighbor on the other side. Then she turned to him and smiled. "This is the second time we have met at dinner," she said. "I do not need to be reminded of it," he answered quietly. "Your brother asked me to stay to supper--I think he had forgotten that you were there. I was in my working clothes, and I am afraid that the flannel shirt was a fact." She smiled. "Yes, and you laid down the law upon Ruskin, criticised 'Sesame and Lilies,' and talked of Walter Pater as though you had known him all your life. You were a revelation and a puzzle to me. I was so weary of life just then. I believe you were the first living person who had interested me for many months." His eyes were looking into vacancy. His words were spoken in the slightest of whispers. Yet she heard.