ever, and would, of course, be the dominant factor
in her fate. He was thankful, at any rate, that Louis in this two years'
interval had finally transferred his heart elsewhere.

After watching his three companions for a while, he broke in upon their
chat with an abrupt--

"What _is_ this job, Louis?"

"I told you. I am to investigate, report, and back up the Damesley
strike, or rather the strike that begins at Damesley next week."

"No chance!" said Anthony shortly, "the masters are too strong. I had a
talk with Denny yesterday."

The Denny he meant, however, was not Wharton's colleague in the House,
but his son--a young man who, beginning life as the heir of one of the
most stiff-backed and autocratic of capitalists, had developed socialist
opinions, renounced his father's allowance, and was now a member of the
"intellectual proletariat," as they have been called, the free-lances of
the Collectivist movement. He had lately joined the Venturists. Anthony
had taken a fancy to him. Louis as yet knew little or nothing of him.

"Ah, well!" he said, in reply to his brother, "I don't know. I think the
_Clarion can_ do something. The press grows more and more powerful in
these things."

And he repeated some of the statements that Wharton had made--that
Wharton always did make, in talking of the _Clarion_--as to its growth
under his hands, and increasing influence in Labour disputes.

"Bunkum!" interrupted Anthony drily; "pure bunkum! My own belief is
that the _Clarion_ is a rotten property, and that he knows it!"

At this both Marcella and Louis laughed out. Extravagance after a
certain point becomes amusing. They dropped their vexation, and Anthony
for the next ten minutes had to submit to the part of the fractious
person whom one humours but does not argue with. He accepted the part,
saying little, his eager, feverish eyes, full of hostility, glancing
from one to the other.

However, at the end, Marcella bade him a perfectly friendly farewell. It
was always in her mind that Anthony Craven was lame and solitary, and
her pity no less than her respect for him had long since yielded him the
right to be rude.

"How are you getting on?" he said to her abruptly as he dropped her
hand.

"Oh, very well! my superintendent leaves me almost alone now, which is a
compliment. There is a parish doctor who calls me 'my good woman,' and a
sanitary inspector who tells me to go to him whenever I want advice.
Those are my chief