‘So!’ said Sebastian, with the amused half-smile still playing about his lips and in his eyes, to the intense exasperation of Myles, who naturally saw nothing at all to laugh at in the situation. There was something, too, about Mallory, which struck a subtle blow at his pride and self-esteem--something which in his innermost heart he knew to be superior to himself, though he passionately refused to admit the idea. ‘Your guess is correct,’ went on Sebastian. ‘I am Mrs. Mallory’s son. And now I should be glad to know who and what you are--one of my work-people, perhaps?’ The young man did not seem to be at all annoyed at what was taking place; indeed, there was that in his manner which said that he was mildly amused with the whole affair. He looked around as he spoke, with a lazy, criticising glance, but it was the glance, as Myles keenly felt, of a master, and of one who was accustomed to be a master. He was surveying his property, and questioning one of his servants. All the revolutionary element in that servant was in perturbation. ‘What am I?’ he began, when Sebastian, who had taken off his cap on entering the office, said suggestively, ‘Hadn’t you better take your cap off?’ ‘That is a matter of opinion,’ said Myles, the blood rushing to his face. ‘It is not the fashion here. As for me, I doff to no man, and but few women.’ ‘Ah! well, we won’t quarrel about it. As you say, it is a matter of opinion,’ said Sebastian, politely; but there was something in the tone which made Myles feel small, and as if he had been behaving childishly--not a comforting feeling. ‘But I interrupted you,’ continued Mallory, who seemed to be acquiring gradually a sort of interest in the conversation; ‘you were going to tell me who you are?’ ‘My name is Myles Heywood, and my business is cut-looking and part of the over-looking in this factory,’ said Myles. ‘Heywood,’ repeated Sebastian, his eyes losing their lazy look, ‘Heywood, where have I--ah, yes! A cut-looker--I don’t know what that is.’ ‘Likely enough not,’ said Myles. ‘But it is quite certain that I must learn it,’ pursued Sebastian; ‘what is it, if I may ask?’ An uncomfortable sense began to steal over Myles, that Mr. Mallory was courtesy itself, and that too under considerable provocation. He gave a short sketch of his business. ‘Thanks,’ said Sebastian. ‘And now--by-the-by, I am absolutely forgetting my business--is Mr. Sutcliffe in?’ ‘Not now: he will be in about an hour.’ ‘In an hour? Then I must go over the works without him. Is there any one here who knows all about it--you, perhaps?’ he added quickly, as if struck by a happy thought. The idea of leading Mr. Mallory round the works excited the liveliest aversion in Myles’s mind. ‘Wilson, the head-overlooker, is above me. He generally does that,’ said he. ‘Wilson--I ought to remember Wilson. He has been here a long time, hasn’t he?’ ‘He has,’ said Myles, rather emphatically. ‘I thought so. Well, where is he?’