?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"A woollen mill!" he repeated.

"But why?" she asked.

"We wish to make garments and blankets for the benefit of the poor. We
feel that, if we could run this sort of thing on a co-operative basis,
we could manufacture the stuff cheaply, always providing, of course,
that we could purchase a mill at a reasonable figure."

For the first time he looked at Crotin, and the man's face was ghastly
white.

"What a queer idea!" said Lady Sybil. "A good mill will cost you a lot
of money."

"We don't think so," said Pinto. "In fact, we expect to purchase a very
excellent mill at a reasonable sum. That was my object in coming to
Yorkshire, I may tell you, and it was only by accident that I saw the
advertisement of your bazaar and called in."

"A fortunate accident for me," said Lady Sybil.

Crotin's eyes were on his plate, and he did not raise them.

"I think it is a great mistake to be too generous with the poor," said
Lady Sybil, shaking her head. "These women are very seldom grateful."

"I realise that," said Pinto gravely. "But I am not seeking their
gratitude. We find that many of these women are in terrible
circumstances owing to no fault of their own. For example, this woman in
Wales, whose husband is supposed to have deserted her--now, there is a
bad case."

Lady Sybil was interested.

"We found on investigation," said Pinto, speaking slowly and
impressively, "that the man who deserted her has since married and
occupies a very important position in a town in the north of England."

Mr. Crotin dropped his knife with a crash and with a mumbled apology
picked it up.

"But how terrible!" said Lady Sybil. "What a shocking thing! The man
should be exposed. He is not fit to associate with human beings. Can't
you do something to punish him?"

"That could be done," said Silva, "it could be done, but it would bring
a great deal of unhappiness to his present wife, who is ignorant of her
husband's treachery."

"Better she should know now than later," said the militant Lady Sybil.
"I think you do very wrong to keep it from her."

Mr. Crotin rose unsteadily and his wife looked at him with suspicion.

"Aren't you feeling well, John?" she asked with asperity.

It was not the first time she had seen her husband's hand shaking and
had diagnosed the cause more justly than she was doing at present, for
John Crotin had scarcely taken a drink that evening.

"I'm going into the library,