‘Thanks, I’m very well indeed,’ murmured Alice, rather disconcerted by such politeness.

‘And Mrs. Mutimer?  That is well.  By-the-by,’ he proceeded to Richard, ’I have a piece of work in hand that will deeply interest you.  I am translating the great treatise of Marx, “Das capital.”  It occurs to me that a chapter now and then might see the light in the “Fiery Cross.”  How do you view that suggestion?’

Richard did not care to hide his suspicion, and even such an announcement as this failed to move him to cordiality.

‘You might drop a line about it to Mr. Westlake,’ he said.

’Mr. Westlake?  Oh! but I quite understood that you had practically the conduct of the paper.’

Richard again smiled.

‘Mr. Westlake edits it,’ he said.

Mr. Keene waved his hand in sign of friendly intelligence.  Then he changed the subject.

’I ventured to put at Miss Mutimer’s disposal certain tickets I hold—­professionally—­for the Regent’s Theatre to-night—­the dress circle.  I have five seats in all.  May I have the pleasure of your company, Mr. Mutimer?’

‘I’m only in town for a night,’ Richard replied; ’and I can’t very well spare the time.’

’To be sure, to be sure; I was inconsiderate.  Then Miss Mutimer and my friend Harry—­’

‘I’m sorry they’re not at liberty,’ was Richard’s answer to the murmured interrogation.  ‘If they had accepted your invitation be’ so good as to excuse them.  I happen to want them particularly this evening.’

’In that case, I have of course not a word to say. save to express my deep regret at losing the pleasure of their company.  But another time, I trust.  I—­I feel presumptuous, but it is my earnest hope to be allowed to stand on the footing not only of a comrade in the cause, but of a neighbour; I live quite near.  Forgive me if I seem a little precipitate.  The privilege is so inestimable.’

Richard made no answer, and Mr. Keene forthwith took his leave, suave to the last.  When he was gone, Richard went to the dining-room, where his mother was sitting.  Mrs. Mutimer would have given much to be allowed to sit in the kitchen; she had a room of her own upstairs, but there she felt too remote from the centre of domestic operations, and the dining-room was a compromise.  Her chair was always placed in a rather dusky corner; she generally had sewing on her lap, but the consciousness that her needle was not really in demand, and that she might just as well have sat idle, troubled her habits of mind.  She often had the face of one growing prematurely aged.

‘I hope you won’t let them bring anyone they like,’ Richard said to her.  ’I’ve sent that fellow about his business; he’s here for no good.  He mustn’t come again.’

‘They won’t heed me,’ replied Mrs. Mutimer, using the tone of little interest with which she was accustomed to speak of details of the new order.

’Well, then, they’ve got to heed you, and I’ll have that understood.—­Why didn’t ‘Arry go to work to-day?’