else was talked of all through dinner at her end of the table.  Above the flowers which Frances Freeland always insisted on arranging—­and very charmingly—­when she was there—­over bare shoulders and white shirt-fronts, those words bombed and rebombed.  Brown bread, potatoes, margarine, carbohydrates, calorific!  They mingled with the creaming sizzle of champagne, with the soft murmur of well-bred deglutition.  White bosoms heaved and eyebrows rose at them.  And now and again some Bigwig versed in science murmured the word ‘Fats.’  An agricultural population fed to the point of efficiency without disturbance of the existing state of things!  Eureka!  If only into the bargain they could be induced to bake their own brown bread and cook their potatoes well!  Faces flushed, eyes brightened, and teeth shone.  It was the best, the most stimulating, dinner ever swallowed in that room.  Nor was it until each male guest had eaten, drunk, and talked himself into torpor suitable to the company of his wife, that the three brothers could sit in the smoking-room together, undisturbed.

When Stanley had described his interview with ‘that woman,’ his glimpse of the red blouse, and the laborers’ meeting, there was a silence before John said: 

“It might be as well if Tod would send his two youngsters abroad for a bit.”

Felix shook his head.

“I don’t think he would, and I don’t think they’d go.  But we might try to get those two to see that anything the poor devils of laborers do is bound to recoil on themselves, fourfold.  I suppose,” he added, with sudden malice, “a laborers’ rising would have no chance?”

Neither John nor Stanley winced.

“Rising?  Why should they rise?”

“They did in ’32.”

“In ’32!” repeated John.  “Agriculture had its importance then.  Now it has none.  Besides, they’ve no cohesion, no power, like the miners or railway men.  Rising?  No chance, no earthly!  Weight of metal’s dead against it.”

Felix smiled.

“Money and guns!  Guns and money!  Confess with me, brethren, that we’re glad of metal.”

John stared and Stanley drank off his whiskey and potash.  Felix really was a bit ‘too thick’ sometimes.  Then Stanley said: 

“Wonder what Tod thinks of it all.  Will you go over, Felix, and advise that our young friends be more considerate to these poor beggars?”

Felix nodded.  And with ‘Good night, old man’ all round, and no shaking of the hands, the three brothers dispersed.

But behind Felix, as he opened his bedroom door, a voice whispered: 

“Dad!” And there, in the doorway of the adjoining room, was Nedda in her dressing-gown.

“Do come in for a minute.  I’ve been waiting up.  You are late.”

Felix followed her into her room.  The pleasure he would once have had in this midnight conspiracy was superseded now, and he stood blinking at her gravely.  In that blue gown, with her dark hair falling on its lace collar and her face so round and childish, she seemed more than ever to have defrauded him.  Hooking her arm in his, she drew him to the window; and Felix thought:  ’She just wants to talk to me about Derek.  Dog in the manger that I am!  Here goes to be decent!’ So he said: