Mutimer sat listening to the tick of the familiar clock.  That and the smell of the fresh linen made his old life very present to him; there arose in his heart a longing for the past, it seemed peaceful and fuller of genuine interests than the life he now led.  He remembered how he used to sit before the kitchen fire reading the books and papers which stirred his thought to criticism of the order of things; nothing now absorbed him in the same way.  Coming across a sentence that delighted him, he used to read it aloud to his mother, who perchance was ironing as now, or sewing, or preparing a meal, and she would find something to say against it; so that there ensued a vigorous debate between her old-fashioned ideas and the brand-new theories of the age of education:  Then Alice would come in and make the dispute a subject for sprightly mockery.  Alice was the Princess in those days.  He quarrelled with her often, but only to resume the tone of affectionate banter an hour after.  Alice was now Mrs. Rodman, and had declared that she hated him, that in her life she would never speak to him again.  Would it not have been better if things had gone the natural course?  Alice would no doubt have married Daniel Dabbs, and would have made him a good wife, if a rather wilful one.  ’Arry would have given trouble, but surely could not have come to hopeless shame.  He, Richard, would have had Emma Vine for his wife, a true wife, loving him with all her heart, thinking him the best and cleverest of working men.  Adela did not love him; what she thought of his qualities it was not easy to say.  Yes, the old and natural way was better.  He would have had difficulties enough, because of his opinions, but at least he would have continued truly to represent his class.  He knew very well that he did not represent it now; he belonged to no class at all; he was a professional agitator, and must remain so through his life—­or till the Revolution came.  The Revolution? . . .

His mother was speaking to him, asking what he meant to do about ’Arry.  He raised his eyes, and for a moment looked at her sadly.

’There’s nothing to be done.  I can pay a lawyer, but it’ll be no good.’

He remained with his mother for yet an hour; they talked intermittently, without in appearance coming nearer to each other, though in fact the barrier was removed.  She made tea for him, and herself made pretence of taking some.  When he went away he kissed her as he had used to.  He left her happier than she had been for years, in spite of the news he had brought.

Thenceforward Mutimer went to Wilton Square regularly once a week.  He let Adela know of this, saying casually one morning that he could not do something that day because his mother would expect him in the afternoon as usual.  He half hoped that she might put some question which would lead to talk on the subject, for the reconciliation with his mother had brought about a change in his feelings, and it would now have been rather agreeable to him to exhibit his beautiful and gentle-mannered wife.  But Adela merely accepted the remark.