"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Trent: I wanted to ask you something," she said, at once. "Ask me anything--command me in anything," he replied. He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked quite devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed. She could not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover, and she did not think that he ought to look at her so--_eagerly_--she did not know what else to call it. It was a look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever looked at her in that way before. They did not look like that in the convent. "It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back a little. "Only I have nobody to ask." "I know--I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones. Somehow his sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's had done. "It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to smile, "not to ask my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am afraid they would only laugh at me." "I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling inwardly. "Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid, ordinary question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield Buildings?" Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was _that_ the question? He did not believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly. "Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's dwellings where your father has founded a Club." "Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is--very good of him, isn't it?" "Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh. "Of course--but I must not insinuate worldly motives into his daughter's ears!" "Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!" "It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand well with the working-people--if he wants votes, for instance--it isn't at all a bad move to begin with a Working-Men's Club." "Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?" "School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said Oliver, coolly. "Or even Board of Guardians. I don't know what your father's ambitions are, exactly. But popularity is always a good thing." Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks. "Then," she said, "you think my father does good things from--from what people call 'interested motives?'" "Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything of the kind," declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her straightforwardness. "I was only thinking of the general actions of man, not of your father in particular." Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said. "But that doesn't matter for the present. I have another question to ask you, Mr. Trent. Do you know anything about the poor?" "I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly poor. 'Pon my word, I don't know any one poorer." "Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost petulantly. "And you said that you would not laugh."