"Why, you're as bad as Isabel!" said Mrs. Pocklington, with feigned severity, disengaging Laura's arms from her neck. "He's never asked you either!" "No, dear; but----" "The vanity of these children! There, let me go; and for goodness' sake, don't be a cry-baby, Laura. Men hate water-bottles." Thus mingling consolation and reproof, Mrs. Pocklington took her way to her husband's study. "I want five minutes, Robert," she said, sitting down. "It's worth a thousand pounds a minute, my dear," said Mr. Pocklington, genially, laying down his pipe and his papers. "What with this strike----" "Strike!" said Mrs. Pocklington with indignation. "Why do you let them strike, Robert?" "I can't help it. They want more money." "Nonsense! They want to be taught their Catechisms. But I didn't come to talk about that." "I'm sorry you didn't, my dear. Your views are refreshing." "Robert, Laura's got a fancy in her head about young George Neston." "Oh!" "'Oh!' doesn't tell me much." "Well, you know all about him." "He's a very excellent young man. Not rich." "A pauper?" "No. Enough." "All right. If you're satisfied, I am. But hasn't he been making a fool of himself about some woman?" "Really, Robert, how strangely you express yourself! I suppose you mean about Neaera Witt?" "Yes, that's it. I heard some rumour." "Heard some rumour! Of course you read every word about it, and gossiped over it at the Club and the House. Now, haven't you?" "Perhaps I have," her husband admitted. "I think he's a young fool." "Am I to consider it an obstacle?" "Well, what do you think yourself?" "It's your business. Men know about that sort of thing." "Is the child--eh?" "Yes, rather." "And he?" "Oh, yes, or will be very soon, when he sees she is." "Poor little Lally!" said Mr. Pocklington. Then he sat and pondered. "It is an obstacle," he said at last. "Ah!" said his wife. "He must put himself right." "Do you mean, prove what he says?" "Well, at any rate, show he had good excuse for saying it." "I think it's a little hard. But it's for you to decide." Mr. Pocklington nodded. "Then, that's settled," said Mrs. Pocklington. "It's a great comfort, Robert, to have a man who knows his mind on the premises." "Be gentle with her," said he, and returned to the strike. The other parties to the encounter over George's merits had by a natural impulse taken themselves to Neaera Witt's, with the hope of being thanked for their holy zeal. They were disappointed, for, on arriving at Albert Mansions, they were informed that Neaera, although returned from Liverpool, was not visible. "Mr. Neston has been waiting over an hour to see her, miss," said Neaera's highly respectable handmaid, "but she won't leave her room." Gerald heard their voices, and came out. "I can't think what's the matter," he said. "Oh, I suppose the journey has knocked her up," suggested Isabel. "Are you going to wait, Gerald?" asked Maud.