‘One of mother’s young men,’ explained Hypatia. ‘Quite an acquisition. Aristocratic by birth, democratic in sentiment. Isn’t that it, mother?’
At tea they were joined by Edward, rather reluctantly, and by the Honourable Richard Bunnard, alias Bunny. Bunny was a fair freckled youth, with sleek hair brushed straight back from his forehead and well plastered to the head. His blue eyes followed Hypatia’s every movement with patient doglike devotion, except when recalled from this dereliction by the voice of Mrs. Fairfield.
‘Now then, Bunny! I want to hear what you think about this minimum wage question. Is thirty-two shillings enough for a skilled worker like a plate-layer?’
Bunny, very nervous, began opening and shutting his mouth soundlessly like a goldfish.
‘Well, Mrs. Fairfield, I hardly think so. A fellow could hardly live on such a mere pittance, could he? Forty-two or fifty-two or even....’
‘Sixty-two,’ murmured Hypatia.
‘Yes, sixty-two,’ he said, catching eagerly at a straw. ‘Or say three guineas, sixty-three. Not much more than a hundred and fifty a year, you know.’
‘There, father!’ cried Mrs. Fairfield. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘Of what, me dear?’
‘Why, the plate-layers are to have a minimum of sixty-three shillings a week?’