“May I ask whether you have been attending a political meeting this evening, Miss Scott?” he asked.  “You came in after us, I think.”

She shook her head.

“No, I have a class on Wednesday evening.”

“A class!” he repeated, doubtfully.

Mr. Bullsom, who thought he had been out of the conversation long enough, interposed.

“Mary calls herself a bit of a philanthropist, you see, Mr. Brooks,” he explained.  “Goes down into Medchester and teaches factory girls to play the piano on Wednesday evenings.  Much good may it do them.”

There was a curious gleam in the girl’s eyes for a moment which checked the words on Brooks’ lips, and led him to precipitately abandon the conversation.  But afterwards, while Selina was pedalling at the pianola and playing havoc with the expression-stops, he crossed the room and stood for a moment by her chair.

“I should like you to tell me about your class,” he said.  “I have several myself—­of different sorts.”

She closed her magazine, but left her finger in the place.

“Oh, mine is a very unambitious undertaking,” she said.  “Kate Stuart and I started it for the girls in her father’s factory, and we aim at nothing higher than an attempt to direct their taste in fiction.  They bring their Free Library lists to us, and we mark them together.  Then we all read one more serious book at the same time—­history or biography—­and talk about it when we meet.”

“It is an excellent idea,” he said, earnestly.  “By the bye, something occurs to me.  You know, or rather you don’t know, that I give free lectures on certain books or any simple literary subject on Wednesday evenings at the Secular Hall when this electioneering isn’t on.  Couldn’t you bring your girls one evening?  I would be guided in my choice of a subject by you.”

“Yes, I should like that,” she answered, “and I think the girls would.  It is very good of you to suggest it.”

Louise, with a great book under her arm, deposited her dumpy person in a seat by his side, and looked up at him with a smile of engaging candour.

“Mr. Brooks,” she said, “I am going to do a terrible thing.  I am going to show you some of my sketches and ask your opinion.”

Brooks turned towards her without undue enthusiasm.

“It is very good of you, Miss Bullsom,” he said, doubtfully; “but I never drew a straight line in my life, and I know nothing whatever about perspective.  My opinion would be worse than worthless.”

Louise giggled artlessly, and turned over the first few pages.

“You men all say that at first,” she declared, “and then you turn out such terrible critics.  I declare I’m afraid to show them to you, after all.”

Brooks scarcely showed that desire to overcome her new resolution which politeness demanded.  But Selina came tripping across the room, and took up her position on the other side of him.