Edwin Clayhanger continued to talk of the strike, and she heard him saying: "If you ask me, I'll tell you what I think--workmen on strike are always in the right... you've only got to look at them in a crowd together. They don't starve themselves for fun." What he said thrilled her. There was nothing in it, but there was everything in it. His generosity towards the oppressed was everything to her. His whole attitude was utterly and mysteriously different from that of any other man whom she had known.... And with that simple, wistful expression of his! They went on talking, and then, following in secret the train of her own thoughts, she suddenly burst out: "I never met anybody like you before." A pause ensued. "No, never!" she added, with intense conviction. "I might say the same of you," he replied, moved. "Oh no! I'm nothing!" she breathed. She glanced up, exquisitely flattered. His face was crimson. Exquisite moment, in the familiarity of the breakfast-room, by the fire, she on the sofa, with him standing over her, a delicious peril. The crimson slowly paled. III Osmond Orgreave entered the room, quizzical, and at once began to tease Clayhanger about the infrequency of his visits. Turning to Hilda, he said: "He scarcely ever comes to see us, except when you're here." It was just as if he had said: "I heard every word you spoke before I came in, and I have read your hearts." Both Hilda and Clayhanger were disconcerted--Clayhanger extremely so. "Steady on!" he protested uncouthly. And then, with the most naïve ingenuousness: "Mrs. Orgreave better?" But Osmond Orgreave was not in a merciful mood. A moment later he was saying: "Has she told you she wants to go over a printing-works?" "No," Clayhanger answered, with interest. "But I shall be very pleased to show her over ours, any time." Hilda struck into silence, made no response, and instantly Clayhanger finished, in another tone: "Look here, I must be off. I only slipped in for a minute--really." And he went, declining Mr. Orgreave's request to give a date for his next call. The bang of the front door resounded through the house. Mr. Orgreave, having taken Clayhanger to the front door, did not return immediately into the breakfast-room. Hilda jumped up from the sofa, hesitant. She was disappointed; she was even resentful; assuredly she was humiliated. "Oh no!" she thought. "He's weak and afraid.... I dare say he went off because Janet wasn't here." She heard through the half-open door Mr. Orgreave's slippers on the tiles of the passage leading to the stairs. Martha came into the room with a delighted, curious smile. "If you please, miss, could you come into the hall a minute?... Some one to speak to you." Hilda blushed silently, and obeyed. Clayhanger was standing in the chill hall, hat in hand. Her heart jumped.