The Coryston Family | Page 4

in the Ladies' Gallery was really visible from any other part of the House. His face was a mere black-and-white patch in the distance. But she imagined the clear, critical eyes, their sudden frown or smile.
"I wonder what _he_'ll think of Arthur's speech--and whether he's seen Coryston. I wonder whether he knows there's going to be an awful row to-night. Coryston's mad!"
Coryston was her eldest brother, and she was very fond of him. But the way he had been behaving!--the way he had been defying mamma!--it was really ridiculous. What could he expect?
She seemed to be talking to the distant face, defending her mother and herself with a kind of unwilling deference.
"After all, do I really care what he thinks?"
She turned and went her way to the tearoom. As she entered it she saw some acquaintances at the farther end, who waved their hands to her, beckoning her to join them. She hastened across the room, much observed by the way, and conscious of the eyes upon her. It was a relief to find herself among a group of chattering people.
Meanwhile at the other end of the room three ladies were finishing their tea. Two of them were the wives of Liberal Ministers--by name, Mrs. Verity and Mrs. Frant. The third was already a well-known figure in London society and in the precincts of the House of Commons--the Ladies' Gallery, the Terrace, the dining-rooms--though she was but an unmarried girl of two-and- twenty. Quite apart, however, from her own qualities and claims, Enid Glenwilliam was conspicuous as the only daughter of the most vigorously hated and ardently followed man of the moment--the North Country miner's agent, who was now England's Finance Minister.
"You saw who that young lady was?" said Mrs. Frant to Miss Glenwilliam. "I thought you knew her."
"Marcia Coryston? I have just been introduced to her. But she isn't allowed to know me!" The laugh that accompanied the words had a pleasant childish chuckle in it.
Mrs. Frant laughed also.
"Girls, I suppose, have to do what they're told," she said, dryly. "But it was Arthur Coryston, wasn't it, who sent you that extra order for to-day, Enid?"
"Yes," laughed the girl again; "but I am quite certain he didn't tell his mother! We must really be civil and go back to hear him speak. His mother will think it magnificent, anyway. She probably wrote it for him. He's quite a nice boy--but--"
She shook her head over him, softly smiling to herself. The face which smiled had no very clear title to beauty, but it was arresting and expressive, and it had beautiful points. Like the girl's figure and dress, it suggested a self-conscious, fastidious personality: egotism, with charm for its weapon.
"I wonder what Lady Coryston thinks of her eldest son's performances in the papers this morning!" said lively little Mrs. Frant, throwing up hands and eyes.
Mrs. Verity, a soft, faded woman, smiled responsively.
"They can't be exactly dull in that family," she said. "I'm told they all talk at once; and none of them listens to a word the others say."
"I think I'll bet that Lady Coryston will make Lord Coryston listen to a few remarks on that speech!" laughed Enid Glenwilliam. "Is there such a thing as _matria potestas_? I've forgotten all the Latin I learned at Cambridge, so I don't know. But if there is, that's what Lady Coryston stands for. How splendid--to stand for anything--nowadays!"
The three fell into an animated discussion of the Coryston family and their characteristics. Enid Glenwilliam canvassed them all at least as freely as her neighbors. But every now and then little Mrs. Frant threw her an odd look, as much as to say, "Am I really taken in?"
* * * * *
Meanwhile a very substantial old lady, scarcely less deliberate and finely finished, in spite of her size, than Lady Coryston herself, had taken a chair beside her in the gallery, which was still very empty.
"My dear," she said, panting a little and grasping Lady Coryston's wrist, with a plump hand on which the rings sparkled--"My dear! I came to bring you a word of sympathy."
Lady Coryston looked at her coldly.
"Are you speaking of Coryston?"
"Naturally. The only logical result of those proceedings last night would be, of course, the guillotine at Hyde Park Corner. Coryston wants our heads! There's nothing else to be said. I took the speeches for young men's nonsense--just midsummer madness, but I find people very angry. Your son! one of _us_!"
"I thought the speeches very clever," said Lady Coryston.
"I'm rejoiced you take it so philosophically, my dear Emilia!"--the tone was a little snappish--"I confess I thought you would have been much distressed."
"What's the good of being distressed? I have known Coryston's opinions for a long time. One has to _act_--of course," the speaker added, with deliberation.
"Act? I don't understand."
Lady Coryston