creetly dropped his glance to his cigar, and Mr.
Langhope sounded an irrepressible note of approval and encouragement.

Amherst smiled. "No, I have not forgotten; and I am grateful to you for
giving my ideas a trial. But what has been done hitherto is purely
superficial." Bessy's eyes clouded, and he added hastily: "Don't think I
undervalue it for that reason--heaven knows the surface of life needs
improving! But it's like picking flowers and sticking them in the ground
to make a garden--unless you transplant the flower with its roots, and
prepare the soil to receive it, your garden will be faded tomorrow. No
radical changes have yet been made at Westmore; and it is of radical
changes that I want to speak."

Bessy's look grew more pained, and Mr. Langhope exclaimed with unwonted
irascibility: "Upon my soul, Amherst, the tone you take about what your
wife has done doesn't strike me as the likeliest way of encouraging her
to do more!"

"I don't want to encourage her to do more on such a basis--the sooner
she sees the futility of it the better for Westmore!"

"The futility--?" Bessy broke out, with a flutter of tears in her voice;
but before her father could intervene Mr. Tredegar had raised his hand
with the gesture of one accustomed to wield the gavel.

"My dear child, I see Amherst's point, and it is best, as he says, that
you should see it too. What he desires, as I understand it, is the
complete reconstruction of the present state of things at Westmore; and
he is right in saying that all your good works there--night-schools, and
nursery, and so forth--leave that issue untouched."

A smile quivered under Mr. Langhope's moustache. He and Amherst both
knew that Mr. Tredegar's feint of recognizing the justice of his
adversary's claim was merely the first step to annihilating it; but
Bessy could never be made to understand this, and always felt herself
deserted and betrayed when any side but her own was given a hearing.

"I'm sorry if all I have tried to do at Westmore is useless--but I
suppose I shall never understand business," she murmured, vainly seeking
consolation in her father's eye.

"This is not business," Amherst broke in. "It's the question of your
personal relation to the people there--the last thing that business
considers."

Mr. Langhope uttered an impatient exclamation. "I wish to heaven the
owner of the mills had made it clear just what that relation was to be!"

"I think he did, sir," Amherst an