laws, to replace them by good ones. Supposing I made my
estate, as I hope to make it, a Utopia, still there would be hundreds of
estates where the people would be in misery. It ought not to be left to
our good will to do things. We should be compelled to do them."

Mary watched the flashing eyes with the greatest admiration. She felt
that Lady Agatha was a glorious creature, for whom she could do
anything. The hero-worship which is latent in the heart of all young
people worth their salt sprang into sudden life. Lady Agatha glanced at
her, noticed her expression, and smiled a rich, sweet, gratified smile.
She had made a disciple. To make a disciple was very pleasant to one of
her temperament. Like most women, she was a thorough propagandist.

As she swept up to the gate of Lady Anne's house, the old lady herself
was standing just within it. She had come in from driving her little
pony phaeton, which she liked to drive herself. She had a little wild,
bright-eyed mountain pony, which would eat sugar and apples from her
hands, and was as much of a pet as a dog.

"Well, Mary," she said, "introduce me. How do you do, Lady Agatha? I
know you by sight already. Won't you come inside and have some tea? I'm
very glad my Chloe didn't meet that uncanny monster of yours. I have
something to do to get her past the trams, I can tell you, much less the
motorcars."

"You shouldn't go out alone," Mary said, with tender concern. "Her
little pony is very wild, Lady Agatha, and she won't take the carriage,
unless she goes visiting."

"You want to make me out an old woman," Lady Anne said, "and I shall
never be that. Come along in, Lady Agatha. I've been hearing about you.
What do you mean by making my tenants discontented? They're very well as
they are. We shall have to form a league against you, we indolent ones."

Her Ladyship had a way of winning her welcome wherever she went. Lady
Anne had begun, like a good many other people, with a certain distrust
of the brilliant young woman who desired to conquer so many kingdoms. In
the end she yielded unreservedly.

"A fine, big-hearted, generous creature," she said. "It makes me young
to look at her and hear her talk. And so she has taken a huge fancy to
my Mary. Very well, then, she can come and go; but she's not to have my
Mary for all that, for I want her for myself."

"No one really wants me," said Mary, with suddenly dimmed eyes, "except
you and papa. But if they did they couldn't h