‘What have you been doing in Jersey?’ Paula asked of Egremont, presently.  Her tone was indifferent, a little condescending.

‘Reading.’

‘Novels?’

‘No.’

‘And where are you going next?’

‘I shall live in London.  My travels are over, I think.’

‘We have heard that too often,’ said Annabel.  ’Did you ever calculate how many miles you have travelled since you left Oxford?’

‘I have been a restless fellow,’ he admitted, regarding her with quiet scrutiny, ’but I dare say some profit has come of my wanderings.  However, it’s time to set to work.’

‘Work!’ asked Paula in surprise.  ‘What sort of work?’

‘Local preacher’s.’

Paula moved her lips discontentedly.

’That is your way of telling me to mind my own business.  Don’t you find the sun dreadfully hot, Annabel?  Do please row into a shady place, Mr. Egremont.’

His way of handling the oars showed that he was no stranger to exercise of this kind.  His frame, though a trifle meagre, was well set.  By degrees a preoccupation which had been manifest in him gave way under the influence of the sky, and when it was time to approach the landing-place he had fallen into a mood of cheerful talk—­light with Paula, with Annabel more earnest.  His eyes often passed from one to the other of the faces opposite him, with unmarked observation; frequently he fixed his gaze on the remoter hills in brief musing.

Mr. Newthorpe had come down to the water to meet them; he had a newspaper in his hand.

‘Your friend Dalmaine is eloquent on education,’ he said, with a humorous twitching of the eyebrows.

‘Yes, he knows his House,’ Egremont replied.  ’You observe the construction of his speech.  After well-sounding periods on the elevation of the working classes, he casually throws out the hint that employers of labour will do wisely to increase the intelligence of their hands in view of foreign competition.  Of course that is the root of the matter; but Dalmaine knows better than to begin with crude truths.’

In the meanwhile the boat was drawn up and the chain locked.  The girls walked on in advance; Egremont continued to speak of Mr. Dalmaine, a rising politician, whose acquaintance he had made on the voyage home from New York.

’One of the few sincere things I ever heard from his lips was a remark he made on trade-unions.  “Let them combine by all means,” he said; “it’s a fair fight.”  There you have the man; it seems to him mere common sense to regard his factory hands as his enemies.  A fair fight!  What a politico-economical idea of fairness!’

He spoke with scorn, his eyes flashing and his nostrils trembling.  Mr. Newthorpe kept a quiet smile—­sympathetic, yet critical.

Annabel sought her father for a word apart before lunch.

‘How long will Mr. Egremont stay?’ she asked, apparently speaking in her quality of house-mistress.