had pursued, “white-washed walls, bare brick floors, not a picture, not a curtain, not even a fire-iron.  Clean—­oh, horribly!  They must be the most awful cranks.  The only thing I must say that was nice was the smell.  Sweetbrier, and honey, coffee, and baked apples—­really delicious.  I must try what I can do with it.  But that woman—­girl, I suppose she is—­stumped me.  I’m sure she’d have cut my head off if I’d attempted to open my mouth on ordinary topics.  The children were rather ducks; but imagine leaving them about like that amongst the bees.  ‘Kirsteen!’ She looked it.  Never again!  And Tod I didn’t see at all; I suppose he was mooning about amongst his creatures.”

It was the memory of this visit, now seventeen years ago, that had made her smile so indulgently when Stanley came back from the conference.  She had said at once that they must have Felix to stay, and for her part she would be only too glad to do anything she could for those poor children of Tod’s, even to asking them to Becket, and trying to civilize them a little. . . .  “But as for that woman, there’ll be nothing to be done with her, I can assure you.  And I expect Tod is completely under her thumb.”

To Felix, who took her in to dinner, she spoke feelingly and in a low voice.  She liked Felix, in spite of his wife, and respected him—­he had a name.  Lady Malloring—­she told him—­the Mallorings owned, of course, everything round Joyfields—­had been telling her that of late Tod’s wife had really become quite rabid over the land question.  ‘The Tods’ were hand in glove with all the cottagers.  She, Clara, had nothing to say against any one who sympathized with the condition of the agricultural laborer; quite the contrary.  Becket was almost, as Felix knew—­though perhaps it wasn’t for her to say so—­the centre of that movement; but there were ways of doing things, and one did so deprecate women like this Kirsteen—­ what an impossibly Celtic name!—­putting her finger into any pie that really was of national importance.  Nothing could come of anything done that sort of way.  If Felix had any influence with Tod it would be a mercy to use it in getting those poor young creatures away from home, to mix a little with people who took a sane view of things.  She would like very much to get them over to Becket, but with their notions it was doubtful whether they had evening clothes!  She had, of course, never forgotten that naked mite in the tub of sunlight, nor the poor baby with its bees and its rough linen.  Felix replied deferentially—­he was invariably polite, and only just ironic enough, in the houses of others—­that he had the very greatest respect for Tod, and that there could be nothing very wrong with the woman to whom Tod was so devoted.  As for the children, his own young people would get at them and learn all about what was going on in a way that no fogey like himself could.  In regard to the land question, there were, of course, many sides to that, and he, for one, would not be at all sorry to observe yet another.  After all, the Tods were in real contact with the laborers, and that was the great thing.  It would be very interesting.