' he
inquired. 'Wool's going up, I hear.'

'Wool's going up, you hear? An' what might you know about wool? Nought as
I know of. I wish you did; but there, thee'rt too fine for t' wool-trade,
and thou'll never need to know about it, only to spend money,' said the
millionaire, purposely, as his son believed, talking in such broad
Yorkshire as is not often heard nowadays, and so broad as to be
unintelligible to the reader of this tale, for which reason it must be
taken for granted, as perhaps his wife's cockney dialect had better be.

However, the inquiry had turned the mill-owner's attention from his
daughter and her unbending attitude, and had apparently produced a good
effect, for Mr Clay, senior, seemed to be in a better temper for the
rest of the dinner, the long, wearisome dinner which he was the only one
who seemed to appreciate.

There was no conversation but the remarks made in a gentle tone by George
to his mother, to whom he was as attentive as he would have been to the
highest and most beautiful lady in the land.

Sarah kept a silence which might have been considered either sulky or
dignified, and Mrs Clay responded in low tones to her son's remarks.

Mr Clay did not condescend to talk to any of them. His wife he never
considered as a companion or a person to be conversed with, women being
inferior beings in his eyes, and for this reason he did not talk to
Sarah, whom he treated with the same contempt, in spite of being very
proud of her looks and bearing; while George he considered a nincompoop
and weakling, though he was secretly proud, too, of his fine manners and
aristocratic appearance.

And so the four ill-sorted people sat each at a different side of the
table, with a long stretch of gold-decked and flower-laden cloth between
them. 'And a good thing, too, or I think we should fight,' announced
Sarah one day.

Poor Mrs Clay put her hand to her head once or twice, and her
ever-observant son bent towards her with solicitude as he inquired,
'Don't you feel well, mother?'

'It's only the smell of all these flowers; they make me feel faint-like,'
she said.

'It's these lilies; they are too strong for a dining-table; just take
them away, Sykes,' he said to the butler, who happened to be close behind
George Clay's chair.

The man looked hesitatingly at his master, and then at the young man, and
apparently decided to obey the younger one, whom he, like the rest of the
staff, liked and respected, inst