“They are always grumbling, aren’t they?”

“Most always, but this is more serious than usual; there appears to be a general stir among the trades in the village.  I don’t understand it clearly.  The marble workers have been holding secret meetings.”

“They mean business, you think?”

“They mean increased wages, perhaps.”

“But we are now paying from five to ten per cent more than any trade in the place.  What are they after?”

“So far as I can gather, sir, the finishers and the slab-sawers want an advance,—­I don’t know how much.  Then there’s some talk about having the yard closed an hour earlier on Saturdays.  All this is merely rumor; but I am sure there is something in it.”

“Confound the whole lot!  If we can’t discharge a drunken hand without raising the pay of all t he rest, we had better turn over the entire business to the Association.  But do as you like, Richard.  You see how I am bullied, Margaret.  He runs everything!  Come, dear.”

And Mr. Slocum quitted the workshop, taking Margaret with him.  Richard remained standing awhile by the table, in a deep study, with his eyes fixed on the floor.  He thought of his early days in the sepulchral house in Welch’s Court, of his wanderings abroad, his long years of toil since then, and this sudden blissful love that had come to him, and Mr. Slocum’s generosity.  Then he thought of Torrini, and went down into the yard gently to admonish the man, for Richard’ heart that hour was full of kindness for all the world.

XI

In spite of Mr. Slocum’s stipulations respecting the frequency of Margaret’s visits to the studio, she was free to come and go as she liked.  It was easy for him to say, Be good friends, and nothing beyond; but after that day in the workshop it was impossible for Richard and Margaret to be anything but lovers.  The hollowness of pretending otherwise was clear even to Mr. Slocum.  In the love of a father for a daughter there is always a vague jealousy which refuses to render a coherent explanation of itself.  Mr. Slocum did not escape this, but he managed, nevertheless, to accept the inevitable with very fair grace, and presently to confess to himself that the occurrence which had at first taken him aback was the most natural in the world.  That Margaret and Richard, thrown together as they had been, should end by falling in love with each other was not a result to justify much surprise.  Indeed, there was a special propriety in their doing so.  The Shackfords had always been reputable people in the village,—­down to Lemuel Shackford, who of course as an old musk-rat.  The family attributes of amiability and honesty had skipped him, but they had reappeared in Richard.  It was through his foresight and personal energy that the most lucrative branch of the trade had been established.  His services entitled him to a future interest in the business, and Mr. Slocum had intended he should have it.  Mr. Slocum had not dreamed of throwing in Margaret also; but since that addition had suggested itself, it seemed to him one of the happy features of the arrangement.  Richard would thus be doubly identified with the yard, to which, in fact, he had become more necessary than Mr. Slocum himself.