Roguish nature had created Lord Barmouth very short, stout, and remarkably unimposing; he made these disadvantages vanish by a manner of high dignity not surpassed even by his tall and majestic wife. They had a very big house in Kent, within easy reach of London, and gave Saturday-to-Monday parties, where you might meet the people you had met in London during the week. There was a large hall with marble pillars round it, excellently adapted for lying in state, rather chilly perhaps if it were considered as a family hearth; Lord Barmouth was fond of walking his guests up and down this hall, and telling them what was going to happen to the country--at least, what would, if it were not for Mortimer. 'On the whole I'd sooner go to the dogs and not have Mortimer,' Lady Blixworth had declared after one of these promenades. The Glentorlys, Lady Blixworth and Audrey Pollington, three or four men--Constantine Blair among them--Mrs. Bonfill, Trix herself, and Mervyn, all came down in a bunch on Saturday evening--a few days after Trix had promised to marry Mervyn, but before any formal announcement had been made. The talk ran much on Beaufort Chance: he was pitied and condemned; he was also congratulated on his resignation--that was the proper thing to do. When this was said, glances turned to Mrs. Bonfill. She was discreet, but did not discourage the tacit assumption that she had been somehow concerned, and somehow deserved credit. 'It is vital--vital--to make an example in such cases,' said Barmouth at dinner. He had a notion that the force of an idea was increased by reiterating the words which expressed it. 'We naturally feel great relief,' said Mervyn. (By 'We' he meant the Ministry.) 'It's straining a point to let him stay in the House,' declared Glentorly. 'The seat's shaky,' murmured Constantine Blair. Mervyn's eye accused him of saying the wrong thing. Trix, from conscience or good-nature, began to feel sorry for Beaufort Chance. 'Resist the beginnings--the beginnings,' said Lord Barmouth. 'The habit of speculation is invading all classes.' 'Public men, at least, must make a stand,' Mervyn declared. The corners of Lady Blixworth's mouth were drooping in despair. 'What I go through for that girl Audrey!' she was thinking, for she had refused a most pleasant little dinner- and theatre party in town. She was not in a good temper with Trix Trevalla, but all the same she shot her a glance of understanding and sympathy. 'Now persons like this Fricker are pests--pests,' pursued Barmouth. 'Oh, Mr. Fricker's really a very good-natured man,' protested Trix, who was on her host's left hand. 'You know him, Mrs. Trevalla?' Lord Barmouth did not conceal his surprise. 'Oh, yes!' 'Mrs. Trevalla knows him just slightly, father,' said Mervyn. Lord Barmouth attained a frigid amiability as he said with a smile: 'Used to know him, perhaps you'll say now?' 'That's better, Trix, isn't it?' smiled Mrs. Bonfill.