 of safety. Facing
her with a quiet openness of look, he said, in a tone of pleasant directness
which Adela had often felt to be peculiarly his own -
    »I shall best thank you by admitting that I should have found it very
unpleasant to meet Mr. Mutimer. You felt that, and hence your kindness. At the
same time, no doubt, you pity me for my littleness.«
    »I think it perfectly natural that such a meeting should be disagreeable. I
believe I understand your feeling. Indeed, you explained it to me yesterday.«
    »I explained it?«
    »In what you said about the works in the valley.«
    »True. Many people would have interpreted me less liberally.«
    Adela's eyes brightened a little. But when she raised them, they fell upon
something which disturbed her cheerfulness. This was the face of Mrs. Mewling,
who had come up from the direction of Wanley and was clearly about to pay a
visit at the Manor. The lady smiled and murmured a greeting as she passed by.
    »I suppose Mrs. Mewling is going to see my mother,« said Hubert, who also
had lost a little of his naturalness.
    A few more words and they again parted. Nothing further was said of the
postponed visit. Adela hastened homewards, dreading lest she had made a great
mistake, yet glad that she had ventured to come.
    Her mother was just going out into the garden, where Alfred's voice sounded
frequently in laughter or denunciation. Adela would have been glad to sit alone
for a short time, for Mrs. Waltham seemed to wish for her company. She had only
time to glance at herself in her looking-glass and just press a palm against
each cheek.
    Alfred was puffing clouds from his briar pipe, but Mutimer had ceased
smoking. Near the latter was a vacant seat; Adela took it, as there was no
other.
    »What a good thing the day of rest is!« exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. »I always
feel thankful when I think of the poor men who toil so all through the week in
Belwick, and how they must enjoy their Sunday. You surely wouldn't make any
change in that, Mr. Mutimer?«
    »The change I should like to see would be in the other direction,« Richard
replied. »I would have holidays far more frequent. In the towns you can scarcely
call Sunday a holiday. There's nothing to do but to walk about the streets. On
the whole it does far more harm than good
