Now the smashing up of the Burnet family by the International Stores was disagreeably not in the picture of these suppositions. And the remarkable thing is that this one little tragedy wouldn’t for a moment allow itself to be regarded as an exceptional accident in an otherwise fair vast development. It remained obstinately a specimen—of the other side of the great syndication. It was just as if she had been doubting subconsciously all along.... In the silence of the night she lay awake and tried to make herself believe that the Burnet case was just a unique overlooked disaster, that it needed only to come to Sir Isaac’s attention to be met by the fullest reparation.... After all she did not bring it to Sir Isaac’s attention. But one morning, while this phase of new doubts was still lively in her mind, Sir Isaac told her he was going down to Brighton, and then along the coast road in a car to Portsmouth, to pay a few surprise visits, and see how the machine was working. He would be away a night, an unusual breach in his habits. “Are you thinking of any new branches, Isaac?” “I may have a look at Arundel.” “Isaac.” She paused to frame her question carefully. “I suppose there are some shops at Arundel now.” “I’ve got to see to that.” “If you open——I suppose the old shops get hurt. What becomes of the people if they do get hurt?” “That’s _their_ look-out,” said Sir Isaac. “Isn’t it bad for them?” “Progress is Progress, Elly.” “It _is_ bad for them. I suppose——Wouldn’t it be sometimes kinder if you took over the old shop—made a sort of partner of him, or something?” Sir Isaac shook his head. “I want younger men,” he said. “You can’t get a move on the older hands.” “But, then, it’s rather bad——I suppose these little men you shut up,—some of them must have families.” “You’re theorizing a bit this morning, Elly,” said Sir Isaac, looking up over his coffee cup. “I’ve been thinking—about these little people.” “Someone’s been talking to you about my shops,” said Sir Isaac, and stuck out an index finger. “If that’s Georgina——” “It isn’t Georgina,” said Lady Harman, but she had it very clear in her mind that she must not say who it was.