"I suppose," he said, "you think that novels are not sufficiently
serious?"

"Oh, no," she answered quickly. "I just haven't time for novel-reading!"

That seemed to him to be worse than if she had said that she preferred
to read solid books. A novel, in her imagination, was a light diversion
in which one only indulged in times of unusual slackness. No wonder, he
thought to himself, all reformers and serious people make such a mess of
the social system when they despise and ignore the principal means of
knowing the human spirit.

"That's a pity," he said aloud. "I should have thought that you'd find
novels useful to you in your work. I mean, there's surely more chance of
understanding the people of the eighteenth century if you read
Fielding's 'Tom Jones' than there is if you read Lecky's 'England in the
Eighteenth Century.'"

"Is there?" said Rachel.

"Of course, there is," Gilbert hurled at her from the other side of the
table. "Fielding was an artist, inspired by God, but Lecky was simply a
fact-pedlar, inspired by the Board of Education. Why even that dull ass,
Richardson, makes you understand more about his period than Lecky does!"

"Perhaps," said Rachel, in a tone which indicated that there was no
doubt in her mind about the relative values of Lecky and Fielding. She
turned to Henry. "I wish you'd write a book about the factory system,"
she said. "That would be worth doing!"

He disliked the suggestion that "Broken Spears" and "Drusilla" had not
been worth doing, and he let his resentment of her attitude towards his
work affect the tone of his voice as he answered, "I don't know anything
about factories!"

"You should learn about them," she retorted.

No, he did not like this woman, aggressive and assertive. He turned to
speak to Mary ... but Rachel Wynne had not finished with him.

"I've spent six months in the north of England," she said, reaching for
the salted almonds. "I've seen every kind of factory, model and
otherwise!"

"Oh, yes," he answered, vaguely irritated by her. He wished that she
would talk to her other neighbour and leave him in peace with Mary. As
an Improved Tory, he knew that he ought to get all the information about
factories out of her that he could, but as Henry Quinn, he had no other
desire than to be quit of her as quickly as possible.

"And I think the model factories are no better than the rotten ones,"
she went on.

"What's that you say?" Roger called to her from the o