ountry, too--that's worth a lot."

"You're fond of the country."

"Couldn't live out of it," she said. "Thanks to Mr. Churchouse, I know
more about things than some girls."

"I should think you did."

"He's very wise and kind and lends me books."

"A very nice old bird. I nearly went to live with him when I came to
Bridetown. Sorry I didn't, now."

She smiled and did not pretend to miss the compliment.

"As to the Mill," he went on; "don't think I'm the sort of chap that
just drifts and is contented to let things be as they were in the time
of his father and grandfather."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Certainly not. No doubt it's safer and easier and the line of least
resistance and all that sort of thing. But when I've once mastered the
business, you'll see. I didn't want to come in, but now I'm in, I'm
going to the roots of it, and I shall have a pretty big say in things,
too, later on."

"Fancy!" said Sabina.

"Oh yes. You mustn't suppose my brother and I see alike all round. We
don't. He wants to be a copy of my father, and I've no ambition to be
anything of the kind. My father wasn't at all sporting to me, Sabina,
and it doesn't alter the fact because he's dead. The first thing is the
workers, and whatever I am, I'm clever enough to know that if we don't
do a good many things for the workers pretty soon, they'll do those
things for themselves. But it will be a great deal more proper and breed
a lot more goodwill between labour and capital, if capital takes the
first step and improves the conditions and raises the wages all round.
D'you know what I would do if I had my way? I'd go one better than the
Trade Unions! I'd cut the ground from under their feet! I'd say to
Capital 'instead of whining about the Trades Unions, get to work and
make them needless.'"

But these gigantic ideas, uttered on the spur of the moment by one who
knew less than nothing of his subject, did not interest Sabina as much
as he expected. The reason, however, he did not know. It was that he
had called her by her name for the first time. It slipped out without
intention, though he was conscious of it as he spoke it; but he had no
idea that it had greatly startled her and awoke mingled feelings of
delight and doubt. She was delighted, because it meant her name must
have been often in his thoughts, she was doubtful, because its argued
perhaps a measure less of that respect he had always paid her. But, on
the whole, she felt glad. He waited f