Adela looked at him for almost the first time.  She had heard this story from her brother, but it came more impressively from Mutimer’s own lips.  A sort of heroism was involved in it, the championship of a cause regardless of self.  She remained thoughtful with troublous colours on her face.

Mrs. Waltham was more obviously uneasy.  There are certain things to which in good society one does not refer, first and foremost humiliating antecedents.  The present circumstances were exceptional to be sure, but it was to be hoped that Mr. Mutimer would outgrow this habit of advertising his origin.  Let him talk of the working-classes if he liked, but always in the third person.  The good lady began to reflect whether she might not venture shortly to give him friendly hints on this and similar subjects.

But it was nearly tea-time.  Mrs. Waltham shortly rose and went into the house, whither Alfred followed her.  Mutimer kept his seat, and Adela could not leave him to himself, though for the moment he seemed unconscious of her presence.  When they had been alone together for a little while, Richard broke the silence.

’I hope I didn’t speak rudely to you; Miss Waltham.  I don’t think I need fear to say what I mean, but I know there are always two ways of saying things, and perhaps I chose the roughest.’

Adela was conscious of having said a few hard things mentally, and this apology, delivered in a very honest voice, appealed to her instinct of justice.  She did not like Mutimer, and consequently strove against the prejudice which the very sound of his voice aroused in her; it was her nature to aim thus at equity in her personal judgments.

‘To describe hard things we must use hard words,’ she replied pleasantly, ‘but you said nothing that could offend.’

’I fear you haven’t much sympathy with my way of looking at the question.  I seem to you to be going to work the wrong way.’

’I certainly think you value too little the means of happiness that we all have within our reach, rich and poor alike.’

’Ah, if you could only see into the life of the poor, you would acknowledge that those means are and can be nothing to them.  Besides, my way of thinking in such things is the same as your brother’s, and I can’t expect you to see any good in it.’

Adela shook her head slightly.  She had risen and was examining the leaves upon an apple branch which she had drawn down.

‘But I’m sure you feel that there is need for doing something,’ he urged, quitting his seat.  ’You’re not indifferent to the hard lives of the people, as most people are who have always lived comfortable lives?’

She let the branch spring up, and spoke more coldly.

’I hope I am not indifferent; but it is not in my power to do anything.’