Miss Ffrench regarded him with a clear and direct gaze. She did not look away from him at all; she was not in the least embarrassed, and though she did not smile, the calmness of her face was quite as perfect in expression.
"My father told me of his visit to your place," she said. "He interested me very much. I should like to see the Works, if you admit visitors. I know nothing of such things."
"Any time you choose to come," he answered, "I'll show you round—and be glad to do it. It's a pretty big place of the kind."
He was glad she had chosen this subject. If she would only go on, it would not be so bad. He would be in his own groove. And she did go on.
"I've seen very little of Broxton," she proceeded. "I spent a few weeks here before going abroad again with my father, and I cannot say I have been very fond of it. I do not like England, and on the Continent one hears unpleasant things of English manufacturing towns. I think," smiling a little for the first time, "that one always associates them with 'strikes' and squalid people."
"There is not much danger of strikes here," he replied. "I give my chaps fair play and let 'em know who's master."
"But they have radical clubs," she said, "and talk politics and get angry when they are not sober. I've heard that much already."
"They don't talk 'em in my place," he answered, dogmatically.
He was not quite sure whether it relieved him or not when Ffrench entered at this moment and interrupted them. He was more at his ease with Ffrench, and yet he felt himself at a disadvantage still. He scarcely knew how the night passed. A feverish unrest was upon him. Sometimes he hardly heard what his entertainer said, and Mr. Ffrench was in one of his most voluble and diffuse moods. He displayed his knowledge of trade and mechanics with gentlemanly ostentation; he talked of "Trades' Unions" and the master's difficulties; he introduced manufacturer's politics and expatiated on Continental weaknesses. He weighed the question of demand and supply and touched on "protective tariff."
"Blast him," said Haworth, growing bitter mentally, "he thinks I'm up to naught else, and he's right."