"If there is an uproar," said Miss Ffrench, "they will come here. They know they can do nothing at the Works. He is always ready for them there--and they are angrier with you than they are with him." "There is no reason why they should be," Ffrench protested. "_I_ took no measures against them, heaven knows." "I think," returned Rachel, "that is the reason. You have been afraid of them." He colored to the roots of his hair. "You are saying a deuced unpleasant thing, my dear," he broke forth. "It is true," she answered. "What would be the use in _not_ saying it?" He had no reply to make. The trouble was that he never had a reply to make to these deadly simple statements of hers. He began to walk up and down the room. "The people we invited to dine with us," she said, "will not come. They will hear what is going on and will be afraid. It is very stupid." "I wonder," he faltered, "if Murdoch will fail us. He never did before." "No," she answered. "_He_ will not stay away." The afternoon dragged its unpleasant length along. As it passed Ffrench found in every hour fresh cause for nervousness and excitement. The servant who had been out brought disagreeable enough tidings. The small police force of the town had its hands full in attending to its business of keeping order. "If we had had time to send to Manchester for some assistance," said Mr. Ffrench. "That would have been reason enough for being attacked," said Rachel. "It would have shown them that we felt we needed protection." "We _may_ need it, before all is quiet again," retorted her father. "We may," she answered, "or we may not." By night several arrests had been made, and there was a good deal of disorder in the town. A goodly quantity of beer had been drunk and there had been a friendly fight or so among the strikers themselves. Rachel left her father in the drawing-room and went upstairs to prepare for dinner. When she returned an hour afterward he turned to her with an impatient start. "Why did you dress yourself in that manner?" he exclaimed. "You said yourself our guests would not come." "It occurred to me," she answered, "that we might have visitors after all." But it was as she had prophesied,--the guests they had expected did not come. They were discreet and well-regulated elderly people who had lived long in the manufacturing districts, and had passed through little unpleasantnesses before. They knew that under existing circumstances it would be wiser to remain at home than to run the risk of exposing themselves to spasmodic criticism and its results. But they had visitors.