‘Really, you’re making a downright Socialist of me, Mr. Mutimer,’ she replied, with a laugh which betrayed a touch of sore throat. ‘I’m half afraid to accept such an invitation. Shouldn’t I be there on false pretences, don’t you think?’ Richard mused; his legs were crossed, and he swayed his foot up and down. ‘Well, no, I can’t see that. But I tell you what would make it simpler: do you think Mr. Wyvern would come if I, asked him?’ ‘Ah, now, that would be capital! Oh, ask Mr. Wyvern by all means. Then, of course, I should be delighted to accept.’ ‘But I haven’t much hope that he’ll come. I rather think he regards me as his enemy. And, you see, I never go to church.’ ‘What a pity that is, Mr. Mutimer! Ah, if I could only persuade you to think differently about those things! There really are so many texts that read quite like Socialism; I was looking them over with Adela on Sunday. What a sad thing it is that you go so astray t It distresses me more than you think. Indeed, if I may tell you such a thing, I pray for you nightly.’ Mutimer made a movement of discomfort, but laughed off the subject. ‘I’ll go and see the vicar, at all events,’ he said. ‘But must your coming depend on his?’ Mrs. Waltham hesitated. ‘It really would make things easier.’ ‘Might I, in that case, hope that Miss Waltham would come?’ Richard seemed to exert himself to ask the question. Mrs. Waltham sank her eyes, smiled feebly, and in the end shook her head. ‘On a public occasion, I’m really afraid--’ ‘I’m sure she would like to know Mrs. Westlake,’ urged Richard, without his usual confidence. ‘And if you and her brother--’ ‘If it were not a Socialist gathering.’ Richard uncrossed his legs and sat for a moment looking into the fire. Then he turned suddenly. ‘Mrs. Waltham, may I ask her myself?’