She stifled a sigh and her eyes grew dreamy as she fell to thinking of the future that lay before her. And as she planned with eager confidence her hand moved soothingly over the dog's head in measure to the languorous waltz that Peters was playing.
After a sudden unexpected chord the player rose from the piano and joined the circle at the other end of the room. Miss Craven was shuffling vigorously. "Thank you, Peter," she said, with a smiling nod, "it's like old times to hear you play again. Gillian thinks you have missed your vocation, she would like to see you at the Queen's Hall."
Peters laughed at the girl's blushing protest and sat down near the card table. Miss Craven paused in a deal to light a fresh cigarette.
"What's the news in the county?" she asked, adding for Gillian's benefit: "He's a walking chronicle, my dear."
Peters laughed. "Nothing startling, dear lady. We have been a singularly well-behaved community of late. Old Lacy of Holmwood is dead, Bill Lacy reigns in his stead and is busy cutting down oaks to pay for youthful indiscretions--none of 'em very fierce when all's said and done. The Hamer-Banisters have gone under at last--more's the pity--and Hamer is let to some wealthy Australians who are possessed apparently of unlimited cash, a most curious phraseology, and an assurance which is beautiful to behold. They had good introductions and Alex has taken them up enthusiastically--there are kindred tastes."
"Horses, I presume. How are the Horringfords?"
"Much as usual," replied Peters. "Horringford is absorbed in things Egyptian, and Alex is on the warpath again," he added darkly.
Miss Craven grinned.
"What is it this time?"
Peters' eyebrows twitched quaintly.
"Socialism!" he chuckled, "a brand new, highly original conception of that very elastic term. I asked Alex to explain the principles of this particular organization and she was very voluble and rather cryptic. It appears to embrace the rights of man, the elevation of the masses, the relations between landlord and tenant, the psychological deterioration of the idle rich--"
"Alex and psychology--good heavens!" interposed Miss Craven, her hands at her hair, "and the amelioration of the downtrodden poor," continued Peters. "It doesn't sound very original, but I'm told that the propaganda is novel in the extreme. Alex is hard at work among their own people," he concluded, leaning back in his chair with a laugh.
"But--the downtrodden poor! I thought Horringford was a model landlord and his estates an example to the kingdom."