"No," said Clara.
"Ah! That makes it all the more interesting," Ingpen added roguishly: "I suppose you think you do know, Mrs. Benbow?"
Clara smiled the self-protective, non-committal smile of one who is not certain of having seen the point.
"It's very hot in here, Edwin," she said, glancing at the door. The family filed out, shepherded by Edwin.
"I'll be back in a sec," said he to Clara, on the stairs, and returned to the drawing-office.
Ingpen was in apparently close conversation with Karl.
"Yes," murmured Ingpen, thoughtfully tapping his teeth. "The whole process is practically a contest between grease and water on the stone."
"Yes," said Karl gruffly, but with respect.
And Edwin could almost see the tentacles of Ingpen's mind feeling and tightening round a new subject of knowledge, and greedily possessing it. What a contrast to the vacuous indifference of Clara, who was so narrowed by specialisation that she could never apply her brain to anything except the welfare and the aggrandizement of her family! He dwelt sardonically upon the terrible results of family life on the individual, and dreamed of splendid freedoms.
"Mr. Clayhanger," said Ingpen, in his official manner, turning.