nd yet both Mr.
Basnett in his exposition, and Mary in her interrogation, carefully
preserved a kind of formality calculated to check the desire of the
human mind for irrelevant discussion. Her questions frequently began,
"Am I to understand--" and his replies invariably represented the views
of some one called "we."

By this time Mary was almost persuaded that she, too, was included in
the "we," and agreed with Mr. Basnett in believing that "our" views,
"our" society, "our" policy, stood for something quite definitely
segregated from the main body of society in a circle of superior
illumination.

The appearance of Katharine in this atmosphere was extremely
incongruous, and had the effect of making Mary remember all sorts of
things that she had been glad to forget.

"You've been dining out?" she asked again, looking, with a little smile,
at the blue silk and the pearl-sewn shoes.

"No, at home. Are you starting something new?" Katharine hazarded,
rather hesitatingly, looking at the papers.

"We are," Mr. Basnett replied. He said no more.

"I'm thinking of leaving our friends in Russell Square," Mary explained.

"I see. And then you will do something else."

"Well, I'm afraid I like working," said Mary.

"Afraid," said Mr. Basnett, conveying the impression that, in his
opinion, no sensible person could be afraid of liking to work.

"Yes," said Katharine, as if he had stated this opinion aloud. "I should
like to start something--something off one's own bat--that's what I
should like."

"Yes, that's the fun," said Mr. Basnett, looking at her for the first
time rather keenly, and refilling his pipe.

"But you can't limit work--that's what I mean," said Mary. "I mean there
are other sorts of work. No one works harder than a woman with little
children."

"Quite so," said Mr. Basnett. "It's precisely the women with babies
we want to get hold of." He glanced at his document, rolled it into a
cylinder between his fingers, and gazed into the fire. Katharine felt
that in this company anything that one said would be judged upon its
merits; one had only to say what one thought, rather barely and tersely,
with a curious assumption that the number of things that could properly
be thought about was strictly limited. And Mr. Basnett was only stiff
upon the surface; there was an intelligence in his face which attracted
her intelligence.

"When will the public know?" she asked.

"What d'you mean--about us?" Mr. Basnett