ay possibly, if they
are good ones and of sound pork richly fried, seem nice to some people,
the world being as it is,' ... we wouldn't get far, would we?"

"And who said I wanted conversation?"

"I ventured to deduce it from the fact that you looked round when you
thought I wasn't looking."

"I never did."

"Didn't you? Then I made a bad shot. I'm sorry!"

Martin wasn't very happy about this rather heavy beginning. The
conversation was floundering hopelessly. Freda, seeing this, took him
firmly in hand.

"Well," she said, closing the sinister work of decadence, "as you've
come, you'd better stay and enjoy the sunshine and take an interest in
me."

"Will you take one in me?"

"Oh yes! Fair play. Don't let's talk stilted rubbish any more: it's
such an effort. Now then, I'll begin. What about Oxford and Mods?"

So he told her the weary tale. She was sympathetic in a rather
challenging, offensive way, which he enjoyed.

"And now you?" he said.

"Oh, I'm just an office girl. I ought to read _The Mirror_ and _The
London Mail_, but I don't. You know Margaret was doing some work for
the Women's Trade Union Movement: that's how she ran into me. I do the
typing in the office where she works. We had a rush of work owing to
the strikes in Lancashire and my silly health collapsed. She brought
me down here. The Berrisfords have been awfully good to me."

"Do you like being in the office?" asked Martin.

"It might be worse, because the letters I have to type are sometimes
about something mildly interesting. Just fancy having to do business
letters all day. But the society is so short of funds that they work
me hard and don't overpay me."

"I always knew that sweating began with the charity-mongers. But I
thought your people might be a bit better."

"I suppose I oughtn't to grumble. Shouldn't I pay a small sacrifice to
the great cause of Efficiency?"

"I hate Collectivism. I mean the Efficiency type."

"So young, my lord, and a Syndicalist?"

"In parts. Anyhow, they might treat you better." Martin spoke with
conviction.

"It's nice of you to be worried, but you needn't. I used to be a
school-ma'am and teach English literature to girls with pigtails and
secret societies to giggle about. Can't you imagine me? We always did
_As You Like It_ or _The Tempest_. That was just hell. I'd much
sooner pinch and scrape in London than live in a school with bells and
prayers and the younger member