shook in her
fingers.

'Why does she think you'd rather she didn't come?'

'I suppose because the occasion seems to her painful.'

'I don't see that it was painful at all. What did you think of my
speech?'

'The first one or the second?'

'Both, if you like. I meant the first.'

'You told the story very well.'

'You'll never spoil me by over-praise.'

Adela was silent.

'About this,' he resumed, tapping the note which he still held. 'I
don't think you need go there very often. It seems to me you don't get
much good from them.'

She looked at him inquiringly.

'Theirs isn't the kind of Socialism I care much about,' he continued,
with the air of giving a solid reason. 'It seems to me that Westlake's
going off on a road of his own, and one that leads nowhere. All that
twaddle to-day about the development of society! I don't think he spoke
of me as he might have done. You'll see there won't be half a report in
the "Fiery Gross."'

Adela was still silent.

'I don't mean to say you're not to see Mrs. Westlake at all, if you want
to,' he pursued. 'I shouldn't have thought she was the kind of woman
to suit you. If the truth was known, I don't think she's a Socialist at
all. But then, no more are you, eh?'

'There is no one with a more passionate faith in the people than Mrs.
Westlake,' Adela returned.

'Faith! That won't do much good.'

He was silent a little, then went to another subject.

'Rodman writes that he's no intention of giving up the money. I knew it
would come to that.'

'But the law will compel him,' Adela exclaimed.

'It's a roundabout business. Eldon's only way of recovering it is to
bring an action against me. Then I shall have to go to law with Rodman.'

'But how can he refuse? It is--'

She checked herself, remembering that words were two-edged.

'Oh, he writes in quite a friendly way--makes a sort of joke of it.
We've to get what we can of him, he says. But he doesn't get off if I
can help it. I must see Yottle on our way tomorrow.'

'Keene wants me to write a book about New Wanley,' he said presently.

'A book?'

'Well, a small one. It could be called, "My Work at New Wanley." It
might do good.'

'Yes, it might,' Adela assented absently.

'You look tired. Get off to bed; you'll have to be up early in the
morning, and it'll be a hard day.'

Adela went, hopeful of oblivion till the 'hard day' should dawn.

The next morning they were in Belwick by half-past nine. Alfred