The fact that Jordan Kellock should continue to earn his living at Dene Mill, while he lived in sin out of it, had become a mental possession with Mr. Pinhey. He believed that such a situation must be an active challenge to Providence, a perpetual blister to the Everlasting Intelligence on Whose watchful keeping that human hive depended. It seemed to Nicholas that this negation of right could not go on for ever, and he presently convinced himself that what appeared to be nobody’s business, was in reality everybody’s business. He suspected that many of the more sober and God-fearing agreed with him, and he knew that, so far as the glazing house was concerned, the majority always agreed as a matter of course with his views. Only the irreligious or low-minded ever questioned him, and when they had committed that error, he did not rest until he had got them out of his department. And now he had drafted an appeal to Mr. Trenchard and was procuring all possible signatures for it. It began “We the undersigned,” and it expressed a pious conviction that the presence of Jordan Kellock in the vat house was a source of danger to the prosperity of the Mill, and a threat to the spiritual stability of younger people, who would see in his support and encouragement an indication that morals counted for less than professional ability and that skill and craft were rated higher than a right way of living and scrupulous obedience to Divine precept. He was pleased with the composition, but took no credit to himself. He felt that his hand had been guided when he wrote it, and believed that every word was in the right place by a direct act of inspiration. And now he desired the largest number of signatures possible—from the heads of departments for choice. Unhappily there were strong forces opposed to Nicholas and he knew that not only would the foreman, Ernest Trood, refuse to sign, but he might influence others against so doing. Neither could Medora’s mother be easily approached, though she had always represented a force for good. He decided, however, to invite Lydia’s opinion. She could at least see the other side, and Mr. Pinhey felt that she would not misunderstand a man of his repute if he discussed the painful subject on the plane where he habitually moved. For he, too, very constantly spoke of “moving on a plane,” even as the unregenerate Kellock was used to do. Indeed, they had no little in common—a fact that came to Mr. Pinhey’s shocked ear on this identical day. During the dinner hour, fountain-pen in hand, Nicholas proceeded upon his task, nerved thereto by most exalted sentiments. The certainties all signed with gusto; but among the doubtful attestors, Mr. Pinhey was disappointed to find few prepared to support him. Lydia he approached, where she sat reading a newspaper in her workroom. Indeed her thoughts were far from the printed page, but she opened it from force of habit until the work bell rang again.