murmur of well-bred
deglutition. White bosoms heaved and eyebrows rose at them. And now
and again some Bigwig versed in science murmured the word 'Fats.'
An agricultural population fed to the point of efficiency without
disturbance of the existing state of things! Eureka! If only into the
bargain they could be induced to bake their own brown bread and cook
their potatoes well! Faces flushed, eyes brightened, and teeth shone. It
was the best, the most stimulating, dinner ever swallowed in that room.
Nor was it until each male guest had eaten, drunk, and talked himself
into torpor suitable to the company of his wife, that the three brothers
could sit in the smoking-room together, undisturbed.

When Stanley had described his interview with 'that woman,' his glimpse
of the red blouse, and the laborers' meeting, there was a silence before
John said:

"It might be as well if Tod would send his two youngsters abroad for a
bit."

Felix shook his head.

"I don't think he would, and I don't think they'd go. But we might try
to get those two to see that anything the poor devils of laborers do
is bound to recoil on themselves, fourfold. I suppose," he added, with
sudden malice, "a laborers' rising would have no chance?"

Neither John nor Stanley winced.

"Rising? Why should they rise?"

"They did in '32."

"In '32!" repeated John. "Agriculture had its importance then. Now it
has none. Besides, they've no cohesion, no power, like the miners or
railway men. Rising? No chance, no earthly! Weight of metal's dead
against it."

Felix smiled.

"Money and guns! Guns and money! Confess with me, brethren, that we're
glad of metal."

John stared and Stanley drank off his whiskey and potash. Felix really
was a bit 'too thick' sometimes. Then Stanley said:

"Wonder what Tod thinks of it all. Will you go over, Felix, and advise
that our young friends be more considerate to these poor beggars?"

Felix nodded. And with 'Good night, old man' all round, and no shaking
of the hands, the three brothers dispersed.

But behind Felix, as he opened his bedroom door, a voice whispered:

"Dad!" And there, in the doorway of the adjoining room, was Nedda in her
dressing-gown.

"Do come in for a minute. I've been waiting up. You ARE late."

Felix followed her into her room. The pleasure he would once have had
in this midnight conspiracy was superseded now, and he stood blinking at
her gravely. In that blue gown, with her dark hair fallin