t.

Whilst the servant waited on them at luncheon, mother and son exchanged
few words. Afterwards, Mrs. Eldon had her chair moved to the window,
where she could see the garden greenery.

'I called on Mr. Mutimer,' Hubert said, standing near her. Through the
meal he had cast frequent glances at her pale, nobly-lined countenance,
as if something had led him to occupy his thoughts with her. He looked
at her in the same way now.

'Did you? How did he impress you?'

'He is not quite the man I had expected; more civilised. I should
suppose he is the better kind of artisan. He talks with a good deal of
the working-class accent, of course, but not like a wholly uneducated
man.'

'His letter, you remember, was anything but illiterate. I feel I ought
to ask him to come and see me before we leave.'

'The correspondence surely suffices.'

'You expressed my thanks?'

'Conscientiously.'

'I see you found the interview rather difficult, Hubert.'

'How could it be otherwise? The man is well enough, of his kind, but the
kind is detestable.'

'Did he try to convert you to Socialism?' asked his mother, smiling in
her sad way.

'I imagine he discerned the hopelessness of such an under taking. We had
a little passage of arms,--quite within the bounds of civility. Shall
I tell you how I felt in talking with him? I seemed to be holding a
dialogue with the twentieth century, and you may think what that means.'

'Ah, it's a long way off, Hubert.'

'I wish it were farther. The man was openly exultant; he stood for Demos
grasping the sceptre. I am glad, mother, that you leave Wanley before
the air is poisoned.'

'Mr. Mutimer does not see that side of the question?'

'Not he! Do you imagine the twentieth century will leave one green spot
on the earth's surface?'

'My dear, it will always be necessary to grow grass and corn.'

'By no means; depend upon it. Such things will be cultivated by chemical
processes. There will not be one inch left to nature; the very oceans
will somehow be tamed, the snow-mountains will be levelled. And
with nature will perish art. What has a hungry Demos to do with the
beautiful?'

Mrs. Eldon sighed gently.

'I shall not see it.'

Her eyes dreamed upon the soft-swaying boughs of a young chestnut.
Hubert was watching her face; its look and the meaning implied in her
words touched him profoundly.

'Mother!' he said under his breath.

'My dear?'

He drew nearer to her and just stroked with