“This will do me more good than you, young man,” he said. Then turning again to Edwin: “Are you a Bradlaugh man?”
And Edwin, uplifted, said: “All I say is—you can’t help what you believe. You can’t make yourself believe anything. And I don’t see why you should, either. There’s no virtue in believing.”
“Hooray,” cried the sedate Tom.
“No virtue in believing! Eh, Mr Edwin! Mr Edwin!”
This sad expostulation came from Mrs Orgreave.
“Don’t you see what I mean?” he persisted vivaciously, reddening. But he could not express himself further.
“Hooray!” repeated Tom.
Mrs Orgreave shook her head, with grieved good-nature.
“You mustn’t take mother too seriously,” said Janet, smiling. “She only puts on that expression to keep worse things from being said. She’s only pretending to be upset. Nothing could upset her, really. She’s past being upset—she’s been through so much—haven’t you, you poor dear?”
In looking at Janet, Edwin caught the eyes of Hilda blazing on him fixedly. Her head seemed to tremble, and he glanced away. She had added nothing to the discussion. And indeed Janet herself had taken no part in the politics, content merely to advise the combatants upon their demeanour.