When Marsham descended he found Alicia already in possession of the drawing-room. Her gown of a brilliant shade of blue put the room out of joint, and beside the startling effect of her hair, all the washed-out decoration and conventional ornament which it contained made a worse effect than usual. There was nothing conventional or effaced about Alicia. She had become steadily more emphatic, more triumphant, more self-confident. "Well, what have you been doing with yourself?--nothing but politics?" The careless, provocative smile with which the words were accomplished roused a kind of instant antagonism in Marsham. "Nothing--nothing, at least, worth anybody's remembering." "You spoke at Dunscombe last week." "I did." "And you went to help Mr. Collins at the Sheffield bye-election." "I did. I am very much flattered that you know so much about my movements." "I always know everything that you are doing," said Alicia, quietly--"you, and Cousin Lucy." "You have the advantage of me then"; his laugh was embarrassed, but not amicable; "for I am afraid I have no idea what you have been doing since Easter!" "I have been at home, flirting with the Curate," said Alicia, with a laugh. As she sat, with her head thrown back against the chair, the light sparkling on her white skin, on her necklace of yellow topazes, and the jewelled fan in her hands, the folds of blue chiffon billowing round her, there could be no doubt of her effectiveness. Marsham could not help laughing, too. "Charming for the Curate! Did he propose to you?" "Certainly. I think we were engaged for twenty-four hours." "That you might see what it was like? _Et après?_" "He was afraid he had mistaken my character" Marsham laughed out. "Poor victim! May I ask what you did it for?" He found himself looking at her with curiosity and a certain anger. To be engaged, even for twenty-four hours, means that you allow your betrothed the privileges of betrothal. And in the case of Alicia no man was likely to forego them. She was really a little too unscrupulous! "What I did it for? He was so nice and good-looking!" "And there was nobody else?" "Nobody. Home was a desert." "H'm!" said Marsham. "Is he broken-hearted?" Alicia shrugged her shoulders a little. "I don't think so. I write him such charming letters. It is all simmering down beautifully." Marsham moved restlessly to and fro, first putting down a lamp, then fidgeting with an evening paper. Alicia never failed to stir in him the instinct of sex, in its combative and critical form; and hostile as he believed he was to her, her advent had certainly shaken him out of his depression. She meanwhile watched him with her teasing eyes, apparently enjoying his disapproval. "I know exactly what you are thinking," she said, presently. "I doubt it." "Heartless coquette!" she said, mimicking his voice. "Never mind--her turn will come presently!" "You don't allow my thoughts much originality."