his work at New Wanley.  All inducements proved vain.  Richard had hoped that at least one advantage might come of the marriage, that Rodman would devote capital to the works; but Rodman’s Socialism cooled strangely from the day when his ends were secured.  He purposed living in London, and Alice was delighted to encourage him.  The girl had visions of a life such as the heroines of certain novels rejoice in.  For a wonder, her husband was indispensable to the brightness of that future.  Rodman had inspired her with an infatuation.  Their relations once declared, she grudged him every moment he spent away from her.  It was strangely like true passion, the difference only marked by an extravagant selfishness.  She thought of no one, cared for no one, but herself, Rodman having become part of that self.  With him she was imperiously slavish; her tenderness was a kind of greed; she did not pretend to forgive her brother for his threatened opposition, and, having got hold of the idea that Adela took part against Rodman, she hated her and would not be alone in her company for a moment.  On her marriage day she refused Adela’s offered kiss and did her best to let everyone see how delighted she was to leave them behind.

The autumn was a time of physical suffering for Adela.  Formerly she had sought to escape her mother’s attentions, now she accepted them with thankfulness.  Mrs. Waltham had grave fears for her daughter; doctors suspected some organic disease, one summoned from London going so far as to hint at a weakness of the chest.  Early in November it was decided to go south for the winter, and Exmouth was chosen, chiefly because Mrs. Westlake was spending a month there.  Mr. Westlake, whose interest in Adela had grown with each visit he paid to the Manor, himself suggested the plan.  Mrs. Waltham and Adela left Wanley together; Mutimer promised visits as often as be could manage to get away.  Since Rodman’s departure Richard found himself overwhelmed with work.  None the less he resolutely pursued the idea of canvassing Belwick at the coming general election.  Opposition, from whomsoever it came, aggravated him.  He was more than ever troubled about the prospects of New Wanley; there even loomed before his mind a possible abandonment of the undertaking.  He had never contemplated the sacrifice of his fortune, and though anything of that kind was still very far off, it was daily more difficult for him to face with equanimity even moderate losses.  Money had fostered ambition, and ambition full grown had more need than ever of its nurse.  New Wanley was no longer an end in itself, but a stepping-stone You must come to your own conclusions in judging the value of Mutimer’s social zeal; the facts of his life up to this time are before you, and you will not forget how complex a matter is the mind of a strong man with whom circumstances have dealt so strangely.  His was assuredly not the vulgar self-seeking of the gilded bourgeois who covets an after-dinner