Joan wished she had not mentioned Shakespeare.  There had surely been others; men who had climbed up and carried their impossible wives with them.  But she couldn’t think of one, just then.

“We must help her,” she answered somewhat lamely.  “She’s anxious to learn, I know.”

The child shook her head.  “She doesn’t understand,” she said.  “And Papa won’t tell her.  He says it would only hurt her and do no good.”  The small hands were clenched.  “I shall hate her if she spoils his life.”

The atmosphere was becoming tragic.  Joan felt the need of escaping from it.  She sprang up.

“Oh, don’t be nonsensical,” she said.  “Your father isn’t the only man married to a woman not as clever as himself.  He isn’t going to let that stop him.  And your mother’s going to learn to be the wife of a great man and do the best she can.  And if they don’t like her they’ve got to put up with her.  I shall talk to the both of them.”  A wave of motherliness towards the entire Phillips family passed over her.  It included Hilda.  She caught the child to her and gave her a hug.  “You go back to school,” she said, “and get on as fast as you can, so that you’ll be able to be useful to him.”

The child flung her arms about her.  “You’re so beautiful and wonderful,” she said.  “You can do anything.  I’m so glad you came.”

Joan laughed.  It was surprising how easily the problem had been solved.  She would take Mrs. Phillips in hand at once.  At all events she should be wholesome and unobtrusive.  It would be a delicate mission, but Joan felt sure of her own tact.  She could see his boyish eyes turned upon her with wonder and gratitude.

“I was so afraid you would not be back before I went,” said the child.  “I ought to have gone this afternoon, but Papa let me stay till the evening.”

“You will help?” she added, fixing on Joan her great, grave eyes.

Joan promised, and the child went out.  She looked pretty when she smiled.  She closed the door behind her noiselessly.

It occurred to Joan that she would like to talk matters over with Greyson.  There was “Clorinda’s” attitude to be decided upon; and she was interested to know what view he himself would take.  Of course he would be on P—–­’s side.  The Evening Gazette had always supported the “gas and water school” of socialism; and to include the people’s food was surely only an extension of the principle.  She rang him up and Miss Greyson answered, asking her to come round to dinner:  they would be alone.  And she agreed.

The Greysons lived in a small house squeezed into an angle of the Outer Circle, overlooking Regent’s Park.  It was charmingly furnished, chiefly with old Chippendale.  The drawing-room made quite a picture.  It was home-like and restful with its faded colouring, and absence of all show and overcrowding.  They sat there after dinner and discussed Joan’s news.  Miss Greyson was repairing a piece of old embroidery she had brought back with her from Italy; and Greyson sat smoking, with his hands behind his head, and his long legs stretched out towards the fire.