d toward the Manor, she all at once found herself face
to face with her brother. Alfred was having a ramble, rather glad to get
out of hearing of the baby this Sunday morning.

'Hollo, what's up?' was his exclamation.

Adela feared lest her face had betrayed her. She was conscious that her
look could not be that of illness.

'I am obliged to go home,' she said, 'I have forgotten something.'

'I should have thought you'd rather have let the house burn down than
scutter away in this profane fashion. All right, I won't stop you.'

She hesitated, tempted to give some hint. But before she could speak,
Alfred continued:

'So Mutimer's going to throw it up.'

'What?' she asked in surprise.

He nodded towards New Wanley.

'Throw it up?'

'So I understand. Don't mention that I said anything; I supposed you
knew.'

'I knew nothing. You mean that he is going to abandon the works?'

'Something of the kind, I fancy. I don't know that it's decided, but
that fellow Rodman--well, time enough to talk about it. It's a pity,
that's all I can say. Still, if he's really losing--'

'Losing? But he never expected to make money.'

'No, but I fancy he's beginning to see things in a different light. I
tell you what it is, Adela; I can't stand that fellow Rodman. I've got
an idea he's up to something. Don't let him lead Mutimer by the nose,
that's all. But this isn't Sunday talk. Youngster rather obstreperous
this morning.'

Adela had no desire to question further: she let her brother pass on,
and continued her own walk at a more moderate pace.

Alfred's words put her in mind of considerations to which in her
excitement she had given no thought. New Wanley was no longer her
husband's property, and the great Socialist undertaking must come to
an end. In spite of her personal feeling, she could not view with
indifference the failure of an attempt which she had trained herself to
regard as nobly planned, and full of importance to the world at large.
Though she no longer saw Mutimer's character in the same light as
when first she bent her nature to his direction, she still would have
attributed to him a higher grief than the merely self-regarding; she had
never suspected him of insincerity in his public zeal. Mutimer had been
scrupulous to avoid any utterance which might betray half-heartedness;
in his sullen fits of late he had even made it a reproach against her
that she cared little for his own deepest interests. To his wife la