treets. On the whole it does far more harm than good.'

'Do they never go to church?' asked Adela. She was experiencing a sort
of irritation against their guest, a feeling traceable to more than one
source; Mutimer's frequent glances did not tend to soothe it. She asked
the question rather in a spirit of adverse criticism.

'The working people don't,' was the reply, 'except a Dissenting family
here and there.'

'Perhaps that is one explanation of the Sundays being useless to them.'

Adela would scarcely have ventured upon such a tone in reference to any
secular matter; the subject being religion, she was of course justified
in expressing herself freely.

Mutimer smiled and held back his rejoinder for a moment. By that time
Alfred had taken his pipe from his lips and was giving utterance to
unmeasured scorn.

'But, Mr. Mutimer,' said Mrs. Waltham, waving aside her son's vehemence,
'you don't seriously tell us that the working people have no religion?
Surely that would be too shocking!'

'Yes, I say it seriously, Mrs. Waltham. In the ordinary sense of the
word, they have no religion. The truth is, they have no time to think of
it.'

'Oh, but surely it needs no thought--'

Alfred exploded.

'I mean,' pursued his mother, 'that, however busy we are, there must
always be intervals to be spared from the world.'

Mutimer again delayed his reply. A look which he cast at Adela appeared
to move her to speech.

'Have they not their evenings free, as well as every Sunday?'

'Happily, Miss Waltham, you can't realise their lives,' Richard began.
He was not smiling now; Adela's tone had struck him like a challenge,
and he collected himself to meet her. 'The man who lives on wages is
never free; he sells himself body and soul to his employer. What sort of
freedom does a man enjoy who may any day find himself and his family on
the point of starvation just because he has lost his work? All his life
long he has before his mind the fear of want--not only of straitened
means, mind you, but of destitution and the workhouse. How can such a
man put aside his common cares? Religion is a luxury; the working man
has no luxuries. Now, you speak of the free evenings; people always do,
when they're asking why the working classes don't educate themselves. Do
you understand what that free evening means? He gets home, say, at six
o'clock, tired out; he has to be up again perhaps at five next morning.
What can he do but just lie about hal