“I’m so glad I came,” cried Mrs. Brocklehurst.  “It’s most interesting!  I never knew what the syndicalists believed.  Why, it’s like the French Revolution—­only worse.  How are you going to get rid of us? cut our heads off?”

Janet could not refrain from smiling.

“Let you starve, I suppose.”

“Really!” said Mrs. Brocklehurst, and appeared to be trying to visualize the process.  She was a true Athenian, she had discovered some new thing, she valued discoveries more than all else in life, she collected them, though she never used them save to discuss them with intellectuals at her dinner parties.  “Now you must let me come to Headquarters and get a glimpse of some of the leaders—­of Antonelli, and I’m told there’s a fascinating man named Rowe.”

“Rolfe,” Janet corrected.

“Rolfe—­that’s it.”  She glanced down at the diminutive watch, set with diamonds, on her wrist, rose and addressed Insall.  “Oh dear, I must be going, I’m to lunch with Nina Carfax at one, and she’s promised to tell me a lot of things.  She’s writing an article for Craven’s Weekly all about the strike and the suffering and injustice—­she says it’s been horribly misrepresented to the public, the mill owners have had it all their own way.  I think what you’re doing is splendid, Brooks, only—­” here she gave him an appealing, rather commiserating look—­“only I do wish you would take more interest in—­in underlying principles.”

Insall smiled.

“It’s a question of brains.  You have to have brains to be a sociologist,” he answered, as he held up for her the fur coat.  With a gesture of gentle reproof she slipped into it, and turned to Janet.

“You must let me see more of you, my dear,” she said.  “I’m at the best hotel, I can’t remember the name, they’re all so horrible—­but I’ll be here until to-morrow afternoon.  I want to find out everything.  Come and call on me.  You’re quite the most interesting person I’ve met for a long time—­I don’t think you realize how interesting you are.  Au revoir!” She did not seem to expect any reply, taking acquiescence for granted.  Glancing once more at the rows of children, who had devoured their meal in an almost uncanny silence, she exclaimed, “The dears!  I’m going to send you a cheque, Brooks, even if you have been horrid to me—­you always are.”

“Horrid!” repeated Insall, “put it down to ignorance.”

He accompanied her down the stairs.  From her willowy walk a sophisticated observer would have hazarded the guess that her search for an occupation had included a course of lessons in fancy dancing.

Somewhat dazed by this interview which had been so suddenly forced upon her, Janet remained seated on the platform.  She had the perception to recognize that in Mrs. Brocklehurst and Insall she had come in contact with a social stratum hitherto beyond the bounds of her experience; those who belonged to that stratum were not characterized by the possession of independent incomes alone, but by an attitude toward life, a manner of not appearing to take its issues desperately.  Ditmar was not like that.  She felt convicted of enthusiasms, she was puzzled, rather annoyed and ashamed.  Insall and Mrs. Brocklehurst, different though they were, had this attitude in common....  Insall, when he returned, regarded her amusedly.