"Yes, by that Radical miller who lives at Martover," said Marion. Atherstone stared. "My dear!--" "The wife told me," said Marion, calmly, rolling up her socks. "I say, I must look into that," said Atherstone, with discomposure. "It doesn't do to have such stories going round--on our side. I wonder why Coryston chose them." "I should think--because he hates that kind of thing on both sides." The slightest twinge of red might have been noticed on Miss Atherstone's cheek as she spoke. But her father did not notice it. He lifted his head to listen. "I think I hear the motor." "You look tired," said Marion to her guest. The first bout of conversation was over, and Dr. Atherstone had gone back to his letters. Enid Glenwilliam took off her hat, accepted the cushion which her hostess was pressing upon her, and lay at ease in her cane chair. "You wouldn't wonder, if you could reckon up my week!" she said, laughing. "Let's see--four dinners, three balls, two operas,--a week-end at Windsor, two bazars, three meetings, two concerts, and tea-parties galore! What do you expect but a rag!" "Don't say you don't like it!" "Oh yes, I like it. At least, if people don't ask me to things I'm insulted, and when they do--" "You're bored?" "It's you finished the sentence!--not I! And I've scarcely seen father this week except at breakfast. _That's_ bored me horribly." "What have you _really_ been doing?" "Inquisitor!--I have been amusing myself." "With Arthur Coryston?" Marion turned her large fresh-colored face and small gray eyes upon her companion. "And others! You don't imagine I confine myself to him?" "Has Lady Coryston found out yet?" "That we get on? I am sure she has never imagined that Mr. Arthur could so demean himself." "But she must find out some day." "Oh yes, I mean her to," said Miss Glenwilliam, quietly. She reached out a long hand toward Marion's cat and stroked it. Then she turned her large eyes of pale hazel set under beautiful dark brows to her companion. "You see--Lady Coryston has not only snubbed me--she has insulted father." "How?" exclaimed Marion, startled. "At Chatton House the other day. She refused to go down to dinner with him. She positively did. The table had to be rearranged, and little Lady Chatton nearly had hysterics." The girl lay looking at her friend, her large but finely cut mouth faintly smiling. But there was something dangerous in her eyes. "And one day at lunch she refused to be introduced to me. I saw it happen quite plainly. Oh, she didn't exactly mean to be insolent. But she thinks society is too tolerant--of people like father and me." "What a foolish woman!" said Marion Atherstone, rather helplessly. "Not at all! She knows quite well that my whole existence is a fight--so far as London is concerned. She wants to make the fight a little harder--that's all." "Your 'whole existence a fight,'" repeated Marion, with a touch of scorn, "after that list of parties!"