His entrance, indeed, requires explanation.

Feeling, as he said, a little “off colour,” Stephen had not gone to Richmond to play golf.  He had spent the day instead in the company of his pipe and those ancient coins, of which he had the best collection of any man he had ever met.  His thoughts had wandered from them, more than he thought proper, to Hilary and that girl.  He had felt from the beginning that he was so much more the man to deal with an affair like this than poor old Hilary.  When, therefore, Thyme put her head into his study and said, “Father, Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace!” he had first thought, ‘That busybody!’ and then, ’I wonder—­perhaps I’d better go and see if I can get anything out of her.’

In considering Stephen’s attitude towards a woman so firmly embedded in the various social movements of the day, it must be remembered that he represented that large class of men who, unhappily too cultivated to put aside, like Mr. Purcey, all blue subjects, or deny the need for movements to make them less blue, still could not move, for fear of being out of order.  He was also temperamentally distrustful of anything too feminine; and Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace was undoubtedly extremely feminine.  Her merit, in his eyes, consisted of her attachment to Societies.  So long as mankind worked through Societies, Stephen, who knew the power of rules and minute books, did not despair of too little progress being made.  He sat down beside her, and turned the conversation on her chief work—­“the Maids in Peril.”

Searching his face with those eyes so like little black bees sipping honey from all the flowers that grew, Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace said: 

“Why don’t you get your wife to take an interest in our work?”

To Stephen this question was naturally both unexpected and annoying, one’s wife being the last person he wished to interest in other people’s movements.  He kept his head.

“Ah well!” he said, “we haven’t all got a talent for that sort of thing.”

The voice of Mr. Purcey travelled suddenly across the room.

“Do tell me!  How do you go to work to worm things out of them?”

Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace, prone to laughter, bubbled.

“Oh, that is such a delicious expression, Mr. Purcey!  I almost think we ought to use it in our Report.  Thank you!”

Mr. Purcey bowed.  “Not at all!” he said.

Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace turned again to Stephen.

“We have our trained inquirers.  That is the advantage of Societies such as ours; so that we don’t personally have the unpleasantness.  Some cases do baffle everybody.  It’s such very delicate work.”

“You sometimes find you let in a rotter?” said Mr. Purcey, “or, I should say, a rotter lets you in!  Ha, ha!”

Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace’s eyes flew deliciously down his figure.

“Not often,” she said; and turning rather markedly once more to Stephen:  “Have you any special case that you are interested in, Mr. Dallison?”