"Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh. "Of course—but I must not insinuate worldly motives into his daughter's ears!"
"Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!"
"It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand well with the working-people—if he wants votes, for instance—it isn't at all a bad move to begin with a Working-Men's Club."
"Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?"
"School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said Oliver, coolly. "Or even Board of Guardians. I don't know what your father's ambitions are, exactly. But popularity is always a good thing."
Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks. "Then," she said, "you think my father does good things from—from what people call 'interested motives?'"
"Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything of the kind," declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her straightforwardness. "I was only thinking of the general actions of man, not of your father in particular."
Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said. "But that doesn't matter for the present. I have another question to ask you, Mr. Trent. Do you know anything about the poor?"
"I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly poor. 'Pon my word, I don't know any one poorer."
"Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost petulantly. "And you said that you would not laugh."