“Not in the least.  I wish I did.”

“Some day we must have a talk about it.  Henslow has made a very daring suggestion to-day.  He has given us all plenty to think about.  We are all agreed upon one thing.  The crisis is fast approaching, and it must be faced.  These people have the right to live, and they have the right to demand that legislation should interfere on their behalf.”

She sighed.

“It is a comfort to hear you talk like this,” she said.  “To me it seems almost maddening to see so much suffering, so many people suffering, not only physically, but being dragged down into a lower moral state by sheer force of circumstances and their surroundings, and all the time we educated people go on our way and live our lives, as though nothing were happening—­as though we had no responsibility whatever for the holocaust of misery at our doors.  So few people stop to think.  They won’t understand.  It is so easy to put things behind one.”

“Come,” he said, cheerfully, “you and I, at least, are not amongst those.  And there is a certain duty which we owe to ourselves, too, as well as to others—­to look upon the brighter side of things.  Let us talk about something less depressing.”

“You shall tell me,” she suggested, “who is going to win the election.”

“Henslow!” he answered, promptly.

“Owing, I suppose—­”

“To his agent, of course.  You may laugh, Miss Scott, but I can assure you that my duties are no sinecure.  I never knew what work was before.”

“Too much work,” she said, “is better than too little.  After all, more people die of the latter than the former.”

“Nature meant me,” he said, “for a hazy man.  I have all the qualifications for a first-class idler.  And circumstances and the misfortune of my opinions are going to keep me going at express speed all my life.  I can see it coming.  Sometimes it makes me shudder.”

“You are too young,” she remarked, “to shrink from work.  I have no sympathy to offer you.”

“I begin to fear, Miss Scott,” he said, “that you are not what is called sympathetic.”

She smiled—­and the smile broke into a laugh, as though some transient idea rather than his words had pleased her.

“You should apply to my cousin Selina for that,” she said.  “Every one calls her most delightfully sympathetic.”

“Sympathy,” he remarked, “is either a heaven-sent joy—­or a bore.  It depends upon the individual.”

“That is either enigmatical or rude,” she answered.  “But, after all, you don’t know Selina.”

“Why not?” he asked.  “I have talked with her as long as with you—­and I feel that I know you quite well.”

“I can’t be responsible for your feelings,” she said, a little brusquely, “but I’m quite sure that I don’t know you well enough to be sitting here at tea with you even.”

“I won’t admit that,” he answered, “but it was very nice of you to come.