Sir Isaac finished a cup of tea audibly and glanced at his wife. “I never meant to be hard on them,” he said, putting down his cup. “Never. The trouble blew up suddenly. One can’t be all over a big business everywhere all at once, more particularly if one is worried about other things. As soon as I had time to look into it I put things right. There was misunderstandings on both sides.” He glanced up again at Lady Harman. (She was standing behind Mr. Brumley so that he could not see her but—did their eyes meet?) “As soon as we are back from Marienbad,” Sir Isaac volunteered, “Lady Harman and I are going into all that business thoroughly.” Mr. Brumley concealed his intense aversion for this association under a tone of intelligent interest. “Into—I don’t quite understand—what business?” “Women employees in London—Hostels—all that kind of thing. Bit more sensible than suffragetting, eh, Elly?” “Very interesting,” said Mr. Brumley with a hollow cordiality, “very.” “Done on business lines, mind you,” said Sir Isaac, looking suddenly very sharp and keen, “done on proper business lines, there’s no end of a change possible. And it’s a perfectly legitimate outgrowth from such popular catering as ours. It interests me.” He made a little whistling noise with his teeth at the end of this speech. “I didn’t know Lady Harman was disposed to take up such things,” he said. “Or I’d have gone into them before.” “He’s going into them now,” said Mrs. Harman, “heart and soul. Why! we have to take his temperature over it, to see he doesn’t work himself up into a fever.” Her manner became reasonable and confidential. She spoke to Mr. Brumley as if her son was slightly deaf. “It’s better than his fretting,” she said.... §8