vised religions
and other ways of having the thing done second-hand. We all object to
trouble and responsibility if we can possibly avoid it. Where do you
live?"

"In Hampstead."

"Your father must be a stand-by, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes; Dad's splendid; only, you see, I AM a good deal younger than
he. There was just one thing I was going to ask you. Are these very
Bigwigs?"

Mr. Cuthcott turned to the room and let his screwed-up glance wander. He
looked just then particularly as if he were going to bite.

"If you take 'em at their own valuation: Yes. If at the country's:
So-so. If at mine: Ha! I know what you'd like to ask: Should I be a
Bigwig in THEIR estimation? Not I! As you knock about, Miss Freeland,
you'll find out one thing--all bigwiggery is founded on: Scratch my back,
and I'll scratch yours. Seriously, these are only tenpenny ones; but the
mischief is, that in the matter of 'the Land,' the men who really are in
earnest are precious scarce. Nothing short of a rising such as there was
in 1832 would make the land question real, even for the moment. Not that
I want to see one--God forbid! Those poor doomed devils were treated
worse than dogs, and would be again."

Before Nedda could pour out questions about the rising in 1832, Stanley's
voice said:

"Cuthcott, I want to introduce you!"

Her new friend screwed his eyes up tighter and, muttering something, put
out his hand to her.

"Thank you for our talk. I hope we shall meet again. Any time you want
to know anything--I'll be only too glad. Good night!"

She felt the squeeze of his hand, warm and dry, but rather soft, as of a
man who uses a pen too much; saw him following her uncle across the room,
with his shoulders a little hunched, as if preparing to inflict, and ward
off, blows. And with the thought: 'He must be jolly when he gives them
one!' she turned once more to the darkness, than which he had said there
was nothing nicer. It smelled of new-mown grass, was full of little
shiverings of leaves, and all colored like the bloom of a black grape.
And her heart felt soothed.

CHAPTER IX

". . . When I first saw Derek I thought I should never feel anything but
shy and hopeless. In four days, only in four days, the whole world is
different. . . . And yet, if it hadn't been for that thunder-storm, I
shouldn't have got over being shy in time. He has never loved
anybody--nor have I. It can't often be like that--it makes it solem