“No precautions will ever prevent it. The poison gets in everywhere. The dust is in the air--impregnates the food, finds its way into the baths, creeps in through the tightest overalls. Women should not be allowed in it--and yet they must work. One feels paralysed before these deadly trades. I saw some women--young and vigorous--who had ‘got the lead,’ as they call it--death written on their faces, one going to have a child; that is one of the horrible parts of it--to be poisoned before one is born.” “You take it to heart,” said Lady Phayre in a low voice. She was touched by his earnestness. “I suppose I do,” replied Goddard. “If a man doesn’t, he had better leave Social Reform alone.” Lady Phayre handed him his tea. The strong, heavily veined hand outstretched to receive the cup, conveyed to her a suggestion of strength which she could not help associating with the earnestness of his tone. For a moment Lady Phayre felt, not unpleasantly, the insignificance of her sex. “Do you know, when I see men like you devoting your whole lives to the cause of others, I feel very small and petty,” she said, upon the impulse. Daniel looked at her in some confusion. No one had ever paid him such a tribute before. Coming from Lady Phayre, it gratified more than a man’s vanity. He laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know that I do so much good after all,” he said. “You are a far more important person, really. You are in the swim of everything--the pivot of the party.” “Oh, the party!” cried Lady Phayre. “Sometimes I get so tired of it. It seems to be all concerned with means--the end lost sight of. Nothing day after day but little moves, and counter-moves, and intrigues, and this person’s speech, and that person’s vote. Oh, Mr. Goddard, when you get into Parliament you will never develop into the typical party-man--the lobbyist, and asker of questions, and mover of amendments. ‘You are so different from most of the other men who come here.” She spoke sincerely for the moment. By the light of Goddard’s earnestness she glanced ashamedly at her own political dilettanteism. A momentary conception of nobler effort passed through her mind. Womanlike she projected these higher subjective workings into increased regard for the man. When Goddard took his leave, he was unaware how far he had advanced in Lady Phayre’s good favour; but he realised that something new and helpful had come into his own life. After this he became a constant visitor at Queen’s Court Mansions. Usually he chose the times when Lady Phayre was alone. In the general society he now and then met in her drawing-room, he felt shy and constrained, blundered in his speech, and grew hot with anger at imaginary errors. A proud man, he was ashamed at himself for envying the ease of manner of other men. In a mixed assembly he was helpless.