of her green parasol. A woman
younger than herself, a girl, indeed, appeared in a low doorway. She had
often told Stanley since that she would never forget her first sight (she
had not yet had another) of Tod's wife. A brown face and black hair,
fiery gray eyes, eyes all light, under black lashes, and "such a strange
smile"; bare, brown, shapely arms and neck in a shirt of the same rough,
creamy linen, and, from under a bright blue skirt, bare, brown, shapely
ankles and feet! A voice so soft and deadly that, as Clara said: "What
with her eyes, it really gave me the shivers. And, my dear," she had
pursued, "white-washed walls, bare brick floors, not a picture, not a
curtain, not even a fire-iron. Clean--oh, horribly! They must be the
most awful cranks. The only thing I must say that was nice was the
smell. Sweetbrier, and honey, coffee, and baked apples--really
delicious. I must try what I can do with it. But that woman--girl, I
suppose she is--stumped me. I'm sure she'd have cut my head off if I'd
attempted to open my mouth on ordinary topics. The children were rather
ducks; but imagine leaving them about like that amongst the bees.
'Kirsteen!' She looked it. Never again! And Tod I didn't see at all; I
suppose he was mooning about amongst his creatures."

It was the memory of this visit, now seventeen years ago, that had made
her smile so indulgently when Stanley came back from the conference. She
had said at once that they must have Felix to stay, and for her part she
would be only too glad to do anything she could for those poor children
of Tod's, even to asking them to Becket, and trying to civilize them a
little. . . . "But as for that woman, there'll be nothing to be done
with her, I can assure you. And I expect Tod is completely under her
thumb."

To Felix, who took her in to dinner, she spoke feelingly and in a low
voice. She liked Felix, in spite of his wife, and respected him--he had
a name. Lady Malloring--she told him--the Mallorings owned, of course,
everything round Joyfields--had been telling her that of late Tod's wife
had really become quite rabid over the land question. 'The Tods' were
hand in glove with all the cottagers. She, Clara, had nothing to say
against any one who sympathized with the condition of the agricultural
laborer; quite the contrary. Becket was almost, as Felix knew--though
perhaps it wasn't for her to say so--the centre of that movement; but
there were ways of d