hist" in connection with the terms
he had been able to secure for the Nottingham strikers, as reported in
the newspapers. It astonished her to come across the man again as Mr.
Raeburn's friend.

They talked about Hallin a little, and about Aldous's Cambridge
acquaintance with him. Then Marcella, still nervous, went to look at the
bookshelves, and found herself in front of that working collection of
books on economics which Aldous kept in his own room under his hand, by
way of guide to the very fine special collection he was gradually making
in the library downstairs.

Here again were surprises for her. Aldous had never made the smallest
claim to special knowledge on all those subjects she had so often
insisted on making him discuss. He had been always tentative and
diffident, deferential even so far as her own opinions were concerned.
And here already was the library of a student. All the books she had
ever read or heard discussed were here--and as few among many. The
condition of them, moreover, the signs of close and careful reading she
noticed in them, as she took them out, abashed her: _she_ had never
learnt to read in this way. It was her first contact with an exact and
arduous culture. She thought of how she had instructed Lord Maxwell at
luncheon. No doubt he shared his grandson's interests. Her cheek burned
anew; this time because it seemed to her that she had been ridiculous.

"I don't know why you never told me you took a particular interest in
these subjects," she said suddenly, turning round upon him
resentfully--she had just laid down, of all things, a volume of
Venturist essays. "You must have thought I talked a great deal of
nonsense at luncheon."

"Why!--I have always been delighted to find you cared for such things
and took an interest in them. How few women do!" he said quite simply,
opening his eyes. "Do you know these three pamphlets? They were
privately printed, and are very rare."

He took out a book and showed it to her as one does to a comrade and
equal--as he might have done to Edward Hallin. But something was jarred
in her--conscience or self-esteem--and she could not recover her sense
of heroineship. She answered absently, and when he returned the book to
the shelf she said that it was time for her to go, and would he kindly
ask for her maid, who was to walk with her?

"I will ring for her directly," he said. "But you will let me take you
home?" Then he added hurriedly, "I have some bus