Perhaps she saw the slight change in my face at Mr. Deville’s name. At any rate, she turned the conversation. “Have you been living in the country before you came here, or near a large city?” she asked. “You will find it very quiet here!” “We came from Belchester,” I answered. “My father had a church in the suburbs there. It was very horrid; I was not there long, but I hated it. I think the most desolate country region in the world is better than suburbanism.” “I don’t think that I agree with you,” she smiled. “In a large community at any rate you are closer to the problems of life. I was at Belchester not long ago, and I found it very interesting.” “You were at Belchester!” I repeated in surprise. “Yes; I was electioneering. I came to help Mr. Densham.” “What! The Socialist!” I cried. She nodded, and I could see that the corners of her mouth were twitching with amusement. “Yes. I thought that Belchester was rather an enlightened place. We polled over four thousand votes. I think if we had another week or two, and a few less helpers we might have got Mr. Densham in.” “A few less helpers!” I repeated, aimlessly. “Yes. That is the worst of Labor and Socialist meetings. There is such a terrible craving amongst the working classes to become stump orators. You cannot teach them to hold their tongues. They make silly speeches, and of course the newspapers on the other side report them, and we get the discredit of their opinions. One always suffers most at the hands of one’s friends.” I looked at her in silent wonder. I, too, had helped at that election--that is to say, I had driven about in the Countess of Applecorn’s barouche with a great bunch of cornflower in my gown, and talked amiably to a lot of uninteresting people. I had a dim recollection of a one-horse wagonette which we had passed on the way preceded by a brass band and a lot of factory hands, and of Lady Applecorn raising her gold-rimmed eyeglass and saying something about the Socialist candidate. “Did you make speeches--and that sort of thing?” I asked, hesitatingly. She laughed outright. “Of course I did. How else could I have helped? I am afraid that you are beginning to think that I am a very terrible person,” she added, with a decided twinkle in her rich brown eyes. “Please don’t say that!” I begged. “Only I have been brought up always with people who shuddered at the very mention of the word both here and abroad, and I daresay that I have a wrong impression about it all. For one thing I thought it was only poor people who were Socialists.” For a moment she looked grave. “True Socialism is the most fascinating of all doctrines for the rich and the poor, for all thoughtful men and women,” she said, quietly. “It is a religion as well as the very core of politics. But we will not talk about that now. Are you interested in the new books? You might like to see some of these.” She pointed at the box. “I get all the new novels, but I read very few of them.”