“Did no other voice speak to you?” asked Joan. Madge laughed. “Mixing with so many brainy people, perhaps,” she suggested; “and wondering what’s become of their souls.”!

She looked at him a little incredulously, remembering the bitter periods of strikes and lock-outs. “Would there not still be the diamond dog-collar and the motor car left to tempt us?” suggested Madge.

“She’ll only pawn it,” said the girl, “to buy him grapes and port wine.” “They would never overtake the farmer,” he answered, with a laugh. “And the last word would always be with him. I am out to get rid of the landlords,” he continued, “not to establish them as the permanent rulers of the country, as they are in Germany. The people are more powerful—just a little, because they are no longer dependent on the land. They can say to the farmer, ‘All right, my son, if that’s your figure, I’m going to the shop next door—to South America, to Canada, to Russia.’ It isn’t a satisfactory solution. I want to see England happy and healthy before I bother about the Argentine. It drives our men into the slums when they might be living fine lives in God’s fresh air. In the case of war it might be disastrous. There, I agree with him. We must be able to shut our door without fear of having to open it ourselves to ask for bread. How would Protection accomplish that? Did he tell you?” “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said. “I was just wanting you.”