"The sound of higher wages is tempting, but what I hope to live to see one day is the middle-man done away with." "The middle-man!" exclaimed Mrs. Dorriman; "I do not understand you, my dear." "I mean those who pay the manufacturer so little that he often cannot raise wages, or do what he would like to do, and who grasp from the rich as well; and the working class I think of do not understand the question, and not understanding are unjust. They blame the rich, but the rich are not to blame; they pay often a hundred per cent. where the workman does not get ten. It is the middle-man who grows rich grasping on either side, and who spend their money in eating and drinking. They help no art or science, and they are indignant if they are appealed to for charitable aid. You do not know how bad it is!" and Margaret's cheek flushed with her earnest, almost passionate, speech. "I never thought of it before," said Mrs. Dorriman, "and now I do not quite understand. Shopkeepers have to pay high rents and rates and things." "Oh, I do not mean the better class of shopkeepers," said Margaret, "and I am talking of small shops I know about in London where coals are sold by the pound and tea in ounces, and those places where shirts are made, literally _made_, for twopence. It is this misery that should be attacked, these things should be made impossible!" "Why can it not be done?" said Mrs. Dorriman. "Because ours is such a free country that interference is not often possible. Oh, there is so much to put right it does not bear thinking about," and the two turned up the river-side and home. CHAPTER VI. Grace was much too excited to feel keenly the parting with Margaret; indeed, the gravity of her young sister, while, of course, to be accounted for, she felt altogether as a drag upon her energies. Like other girls of her peculiarly thoughtless nature she hated having to think of anything that was not what she considered cheerful; and she had not the power of throwing herself into the sorrows of any one, even of a sister, whose one fault it was, that she had allowed her clear instincts to be obscured and darkened by her passionate love for Grace, and her wish to give what she thought her very life depended upon at that moment. Accustomed to be considered, it was new to her to find that she had twice to change her place to suit Lady Lyons, who was one of the women who imagine that, whatever happens to belong to another, from a husband to a corner in a railway-carriage, must be superior to anything they have themselves. Grace was good-humoured, and changed her seat cheerfully, although she felt the difference. Margaret would have borne any discomfort rather than disturb her. But the thought that she was going to join the world in London and form one of the giddy throng was too enchanting to her not to support her under any surprises--she was so determined to be happy.