‘Will you let me say that you are mistaken in that?’ Mutimer had never before felt himself constrained to qualify and adorn his phrases; the necessity made him awkward.  Not only did he aim at polite modes of speech altogether foreign to his lips, but his own voice sounded strange to him in its forced suppression.  He did not as yet succeed in regarding himself from the outside and criticising the influences which had got hold upon him; he was only conscious that a young lady—­the very type of young lady that a little while ago he would have held up for scorn—­was subduing his nature by her mere presence and exacting homage from him to which she was wholly indifferent.  ’Everyone can give help in such a cause as this.  You can work upon the minds of the people you talk with and get them to throw away their prejudices.  The cause of the working classes seems so hopeless just because they’re too far away to catch the ears of those who oppress them.’

‘I do not oppress them, Mr. Mutimer.’

Adela spoke with a touch of impatience.  She wished to bring this conversation to an end, and the man would give her no opportunity of doing so.  She was not in reality paying attention to his arguments, as was evident in her echo of his last words.

‘Not willingly, but none the less you do so,’ he rejoined.  ’Everyone who lives at ease and without a thought of changing the present state of society is tyrannising over the people.  Every article of clothing you put on means a life worn out somewhere in a factory.  What would your existence be without the toil of those men and women who live and die in want of every comfort which seems as natural to you as the air you breathe?  Don’t you feel that you owe them something?  It’s a debt that can very easily be forgotten, I know that, and just because the creditors are too weak to claim it.  Think of it in that way, and I’m quite sure you won’t let it slip from your mind again.’

Alfred came towards them, announcing that tea was ready, and Adela gladly moved away.

‘You won’t make any impression there,’ said Alfred with a shrug of good-natured contempt.  ’Argument isn’t understood by women.  Now, if you were a revivalist preacher—­’ Mrs. Waltham and Adela went to church.  Mutimer returned to his lodgings, leaving his friend Waltham smoking in the garden.

On the way home after service, Adela had a brief murmured conversation with Letty Tew.  Her mother was walking out with Mrs. Mewling.

‘It was evidently pre-arranged,’ said the latter, after recounting certain details in a tone of confidence.  ’I was quite shocked.  On his part such conduct is nothing less than disgraceful.  Adela, of course, cannot be expected to know.’

‘I must tell her,’ was the reply.

Adela was sitting rather dreamily in her bedroom a couple of hours later when her mother entered.

‘Little girls shouldn’t tell stories,’ Mrs. Waltham began, with playfulness which was not quite natural.  ’Who was it that wanted to go and speak a word to Letty this afternoon?’