Exceedingly happy and contented, she walked beside him homeward in the fading light and ceased not to utter her budding thoughts and reflections.  He proved a good listener and encouraged her, for she amused him and really interested him.  In common with her father, Raymond was often struck by the fact that a child would consider subjects which had never entered his head; but so it was, since Estelle’s mind had been wrought in a larger plan and compassed heights and depths, even in its present immaturity, to which neither Waldron’s nor Raymond’s had aspired.  Yet the things she said were challenging, though often absurd.  Facts which he knew, though Estelle as yet did not, served to block her ideals and explain her mysteries, yet he recognised the girl’s simple dreams, unvexed by practical considerations, or the ‘nay’ that real life must make to them, were beautiful.

She spoke a good deal about the Mill, where now her chief interest centred; and Raymond spoke about it too.  And presently, after brisk interchange of ideas, she pointed out a fact that had not struck him.

“It’s a funny thing, Ray,” she said, “but what you love best about the works is the machinery; and what I love best about them is the people.  Yet I don’t see how a machine can be as interesting as a girl.”

“Perhaps you’re wrong, Estelle.  Perhaps I wish you were right.  If I hadn’t found a girl more interesting—­” He broke off and turned from the road she had innocently opened into his own thoughts.

“Of course the people are more interesting, really.  But because I’m keen about the machines, you mustn’t think I’m not keener still about the people.  You see the better the machines, the better time the people will have, and the less hard and difficult and tiring for them will be their work.”

She considered this and suddenly beamed.

“How splendid!  Of course I see.  You are clever, Ray.  And it’s really the people you think of all the time.”

She gave him a look of admiration.

“I expect presently they’ll all see that; and gradually you’ll get them more and more beautiful machines, till their work is just pleasure and nothing else.  And do invent something to prevent Sabina and Nancy and Alice hurting their hands.  They have to stop the spindles so often, and it wounds them, and Nancy gets chilblains in the winter, so it’s simply horrid for her.”

“That’s right.  It’s one of the problems.  I’m not forgetting these things.”

“And if I think of anything may I tell you?”

“I hope you will, Estelle.”