The woman nodded. “_M’shumadas_--traitress to the Faith,” she said in the tone of one who repeats a watchword. “The people here are all good Jews. They despise _m’shumadim_. They don’t want you to come and convert their children, or give them tracts out of a black bag.” “But I have no black bag,” Celia put in, with a faint smile, although there were tears in her eyes. “And I have brought toys--not tracts. It is very unkind of you all to treat me like this. I should not have thought it of you, especially, Anna.” “Good Jews despise _m’shumadim_,” the woman reiterated half sullenly, and unbolted the door. Celia drew on her gloves, and took her leave. With flaming cheeks and quivering lips she hurried past the factory and down the high road. The men were pouring out of the workshops, most of them wending their way homewards. A few months ago they would have lifted their caps with a courteous “Good morning, miss.” Now, they passed her with a scowl. Some of the recently-arrived workers were informed as to her identity, and Celia caught the word _m’shumadas_ as it passed from lip to lip. Arrived at the Towers, she burst into the library, where her brother and Enid Wilton were writing, and impetuously told them of the insult she had received. It was so uncalled-for, so nonsensical, so absolutely absurd, she declared tremulously. She had done nothing to merit such treatment. Enid Wilton listened with sympathy. Herbert Karne flung down his pen with annoyance. “So they mean war, do they?--the blockheads!” he exclaimed, with an angry laugh. “I ought to have prepared you for this, Celia: you must not go near them any more.” “But why?” the girl asked quickly, as she threw her hat down on the couch, and lifted Souvie up to be petted. “Do they not know that by insulting me, they offend you also?” The artist shrugged his shoulders. “They don’t much care if they do. For some unaccountable reason I have lost my popularity amongst them. You cannot imagine how terribly those people have disappointed me,” he added, turning towards Enid Wilton with a touch of bitterness. “After having spent much thought, time, and money on their education and the improvement of their surroundings, I find them, in spite of it all, still dominated by the instincts of the untutored savage: unprincipled, ungrateful, uncouth, irresponsible, ignorant and superstitious in the extreme. The first few batches of men I had down here responded admirably, and appreciated to the full my efforts for them, but these present ones are absolutely incorrigible. It is disheartening, is it not?--for I was confident of success in my undertaking.” “But what has happened to turn them against _you_?” asked his sister with surprise. “Have you offended them also?”