"
"You forget, Mrs. Van Fosdyke," he objected, "that I am not even the
leader of my party. Stephen Dartrey is our chief."
She shook her head.
"Dartrey is a brilliant person," she admitted, "but we all know that he
is not a practical politician. The battle is between you and Horlock."
Tallente was watching a woman go by, a woman in black and silver, whose
walk reminded him of Jane. His hostess followed his eyes.
"You are one of Alice Mountgarron's admirers?" she enquired.
"I don't even know her," he replied. "She reminded me of some one for a
moment."
"She is one of the Duchess of Barminster's daughters," his companion
told him. "She married Mountgarron last year. Her sister, Lady Jane,
is rather inclined towards your political outlook. She lives in
Devonshire and tries to do good."
His eyes followed the woman in black and silver until she had passed out
of sight. The family likeness was there, appealing to him curiously,
tugging at his heartstrings. His artificial surroundings slipped easily
away. He was back on the moors, he felt a sniff of the strong wind, the
wholesome exaltation of the empty places.
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