"
"There is something in it, then?"
"Maybe," was the careless admission. "You're a visitor worth
having, Julian. '70 port and homegrown walnuts! A nice little
addition to my simple fare! Must you go back to-morrow?"
Julian nodded.
"We've another batch of visitors coming,--Stenson amongst them,
by the bye."
Furley nodded. His eyes narrowed, and little lines appeared at
their corners.
"I can't imagine," he confessed. "What brings Stenson down to
Maltenby. I should have thought that your governor and he could
scarcely spend ten minutes together without quarrelling!"
"They never do spend ten minutes together alone," Julian replied
drily. "I see to that. Then my mother, you know, has the knack
of getting interesting people together. The Bishop is coming,
amongst others. And, Furley, I wanted to ask you--do you know
anything of a young woman--she is half Russian, I believe--who
calls herself Miss Catherine Abbeway?"
"Yes, I know her," was the brief rejoinder.
"She lived in Russia for some years, it seems," Julian continued.
"Her mother was Russian--a great writer on social subjects."
Furley nodded.
"Miss Abbeway is rather that way herself," he remarked. "I've
heard her lecture in the East End. She has got hold of the
woman's side of the Labour question as well as any one I ever came
across."
"She is a most remarkably attractive young person," Julian
declared pensively.
"Yes, she's good-looking. A countess in her own right, they tell
me, but she keeps her title secret for fear of losing influence
with the working classes.
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