‘I should so like to,’ she said; ‘but the mothers will expect me to be here, of course, to receive them. It would be so shocking to play them false. And the movement is such a good one. I never feel that one is in the world solely for one’s own pleasure. One belongs to others, and one’s highest joy should always be to do one’s duty by one’s neighbours--yes?’ ‘It is rather a nuisance at times, don’t you find?’ asked Kingston, on whom his wife’s habit of uttering edifying little speeches on all occasions never failed to have a slightly irritating effect, even after twenty years’ experience of them. ‘But one should not consider one’s self,’ answered Gundred correctly. ‘It is a terrible thing to be selfish. Besides, if God has given one special advantages, one should be glad to make use of them to make others happy. Houses and position and things like that are only precious because one can turn them to the use of others--yes? I should never like to think that I found my factory-girls and my mothers and my curates a nuisance. I look upon them as part of my duty in life. And duty is the truest pleasure.’ Kingston felt as if he were in a dream. How different was this atmosphere of tranquil platitude from the feverish, restless world of longing in which he had lately been so busy. His mind staggered at the thought that this cool, deliberate Gundred could be of one blood with the harried, lonely creatures who frequented the spirit-raiser’s in desperate craving for lost loves and silenced voices. What kin was he himself--he with his secret cult, his deep secret ambition, to this placid woman, so secure in the intimacy of her God, so sedate in the conscious enjoyment of all her duties? It was a grinning irony that held them linked; in actual fact, they were mere acquaintances, knowing nothing of each other, sympathizing in nothing, bound only by the soft amicable bonds of custom and convenience. Breakfast was over. Gundred gathered up her letters in a tiny sheaf and rose. ‘I must go and see Motherley,’ she said, ‘about the arrangements for this afternoon. I think one ought to have iced coffee for the poor things in this hot weather, don’t you?’ Gundred could never, in any possible circumstances of rank or condition, have been induced to leave the reins of household management in the hands of those who were paid to hold them. She was one of the many women who are housekeepers from their birth. The exercise of diligent economy was very dear to her heart, and she made a merit of indulging herself in it, by insisting that she attended to such matters only from a strong sense of duty. Kingston gave due weight to her question as he pondered it. ‘Yes,’ he said very gravely, ‘on the whole I really think you might allow the mothers iced coffee.’