ffort she preserved her even tone to the end of her speech.

'It is very kind of you,' Hubert replied almost warmly. 'I'm very sorry
you have had the trouble.'

As she disclaimed thanks, Eldon's tact discovered the way of safety.
Facing her with a quiet openness of look, he said, in a tone of pleasant
directness which Adela had often felt to be peculiarly his own--

'I shall best thank you by admitting that I should have found it very
unpleasant to meet Mr. Mutimer. You felt that, and hence your kindness.
At the same time, no doubt, you pity me for my littleness.'

'I think it perfectly natural that such a meeting should be
disagreeable. I believe I understand your feeling. Indeed, you explained
it to me yesterday.'

'I explained it?'

'In what you said about the works in the valley.'

'True. Many people would have interpreted me less liberally.'

Adela's eyes brightened a little. But when she raised them, they fell
upon something which disturbed her cheerfulness. This was the face
of Mrs. Mewling, who had come up from the direction of Wanley and was
clearly about to pay a visit at the Manor. The lady smiled and murmured
a greeting as she passed by.

'I suppose Mrs. Mewling is going to see my mother,' said Hubert, who
also had lost a little of his naturalness.

A few more words and they again parted. Nothing further was said of the
postponed visit. Adela hastened homewards, dreading lest she had made a
great mistake, yet glad that she had ventured to come.

Her mother was just going out into the garden, where Alfred's voice
sounded frequently in laughter or denunciation. Adela would have been
glad to sit alone for a short time, for Mrs. Waltham seemed to wish for
her company She had only time to glance at herself in her looking-glass
and just press a palm against each cheek.

Alfred was puffing clouds from his briar pipe, but Mutimer had ceased
smoking. Near the latter was a vacant seat; Adela took it, as there was
no other.

'What a good thing the day of rest is!' exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. 'I
always feel thankful when I think of the poor men who toil so all
through the week in Belwick, and how they must enjoy their Sunday. You
surely wouldn't make any change in _that_, Mr. Mutimer?'

'The change I should like to see would be in the other direction,'
Richard replied. 'I would have holidays far more frequent. In the towns
you can scarcely call Sunday a holiday. There's nothing to do but to
walk about the s