Mrs. Sartwell’s lips trembled as she folded her work methodically, enclosing needle, thimble and various paraphernalia of sewing in the bundle, placing it exactly where it should be in the workbasket. The keys jingled at her waist as she rose. “I am ready, and always have been, to get you what you want whenever you want it. Perhaps I expect too much, but I think you might ask for it civilly. If you treat your men as you do your wife, it’s no wonder they strike.” Sartwell made no reply, sitting there with his eyes closed until his wife, with a quaver in her voice, told him his supper was ready. It was a plentiful spread, with a choice of beer or spirits to drink; for one of Sartwell’s weaknesses was the belief that to work well a man must eat well. Although his wife did not believe in nor approve of this pampering, she nevertheless provided well for him, for is not a woman helpless in such a case? As the man of the house ate in silence, she looked at him once or twice over her sewing, and finally said, pathetically: “I am sure Edna was hungry, but was afraid to say so, you were so gruff with her. One would think that if you had no feeling for your wife, you would have some for your only daughter.” Sartwell cut another slice from the cold joint, and transferred it to his plate. “I am accustomed to it, I hope, by this time, but she is young and nothing warps the character of the young like uncalled-for harshness and unkindness. You are blind to her real faults, and then you are severe when there is no occasion for severity. What had the child done that you should order her off to bed in that fashion?” There was a pause for a reply, but no reply came. Mrs. Sartwell was accustomed to this, as she had said, for there is a brutality of silence as well as a brutality of speech; so she scanned her adversary, as one does who searches for a joint in the armor where the sword’s point will enter. Then she took a firm grasp of the hilt, and pressed it gently forward. Turning over her sewing, and sighing almost inaudibly to it, she remarked, quietly: “As I said to Mrs. Hope when she called----” “Said to whom?” snapped Sartwell, turning round suddenly. “Oh, I thought you were never interested in my callers. I suppose I am allowed to have some private friends of my own. Still, if you wish me to sit in the house all day alone, you have but to say so, and I will obey.” “Don’t talk nonsense, if you can help it. What was Mrs. Hope doing here?” “She was calling on me.” “Quite so. I think I understand that much. What was her mission? What particular fad was on this time?” “I should think you would be ashamed to speak like that about your employer’s wife, when she did your wife the honour to consult her----” “About what? That is the point I want to get at.” “About the strike.” “Ah!” A glint of anger came into Sartwell’s eyes, and his wife looked at him with some uneasiness.