Lady Tranmore shrugged her shoulders. "Lord Parham told me he had had the most grotesque letters from him!—and meant henceforward to put them in the fire."
"Very foolish of Lord Parham," said Mary, promptly. "I should have thought that a Prime Minister would welcome information—from all sides. And of course Mr. Cliffe thinks that the government has been very badly served."
Lady Tranmore's wonder broke out. "You don't mean—that—you hear from him?"
She turned and looked full at her companion. Mary's color was still raised, but otherwise she betrayed no embarrassment.
"Dear Cousin Elizabeth—I have heard from him regularly for the last six months. I have often wished to tell you; but I was afraid you might misunderstand me, and—my courage failed me!" The speaker, smiling, laid her hand on Lady Tranmore's. "The fact is, he wrote to me last autumn from Japan. You remember that poor cousin of mine who died at Tokyo? Mr. Cliffe had seen something of him, and he very kindly wrote both to his mother and me afterwards. Then—"
"You didn't forgive him!" cried Lady Tranmore.
Mary laughed.
"Was there anything to forgive? We were both young and foolish. Anyway, he interests me,—and his letters are splendid."
"Did you ever tell William you were corresponding with him?"
"No, indeed! But I want very much to make them understand each other better. Why shouldn't the government make use of him? He doesn't wish at all to be thrown into the arms of the other side. But they treat him so badly—"
"My dear Mary! are we governed by the proper people, or are we not?"
"It is no good ignoring the press," said Mary, holding herself gracefully erect. "And the Bishop quite agrees with me."
Lady Tranmore sank back in her seat.
"You discussed it with the Bishop?" It was now some time since Mary had last brought the family Bishop—her cousin and Lady Tranmore's—to bear upon an argument between them. But Elizabeth knew that his appearance in the conversation invariably meant a fait accompli of some sort.
"I read him some of Mr. Cliffe's letters," said Mary, modestly. "He thought them most remarkable."
"Even when he mocks at missionaries?"
"Oh! but he doesn't mock at them any more! He has learnt wisdom,—I assure you he has!"
Lady Tranmore's patience almost departed, Mary's look was so penetrated with indulgence for the prejudices of a dear but unreasonable relation. But she managed to preserve it.
"And you knew he was coming home?"
"Oh yes!" said Mary. "I meant to have told you at dinner. But something put it out of my head—Kitty, of course! I shouldn't wonder if he were at the Embassy to-night."
"Polly!—tell me!"—Lady Tranmore gripped Miss Lyster's hand with some force—"are you going to marry him?"
"Not that I know of," was the smiling reply. "Don't you think I am old enough by now to have a man friend?"
"And you expect me to be civil to him!"
"Well, dear Cousin Elizabeth—you know—you never did break with him quite—"
Lady Tranmore in her bewilderment reflected that she had certainly meant to complete the process whenever she and Mr. Cliffe should meet again. Aloud she could only say, rather stiffly, "I can't forget that William disapproves of him strongly."
"Oh no—excuse me—I don't think he does!" said Mary, quickly. "He said to me the other day that he should be very glad to pick his brains when he came home. And then he laughed and said he was a 'deuced clever fellow'—excuse the adjective!—and it was a great thing to be 'as free as that chap was'—'without all sorts of boring colleagues and responsibilities.' Wasn't it like William?"
Lady Tranmore sighed.
"William shouldn't say those things."
"Of course, dear, he was only in fun. But I'll lay you a small wager, Cousin Elizabeth, that Kitty will ask Mr. Cliffe to lunch as soon as she knows he is in town."
