Roden passed her and took the lead. “I will take you there, since you are so anxious to go—if you will tell me why you wish to see the works,” he said.
“I should like to know,” she answered, with averted eyes and a slow deliberation, “where and how you spend so much of your time.”
“I believe you are jealous of the malgamite works,” he said, with his curt laugh.
“Perhaps I am,” she admitted, without meeting his glance; and Roden rode ahead, with a gleam of satisfaction in his heavy eyes.
So Mrs. Vansittart found herself within the gates of the malgamite works, riding quietly on the silent sand, at the heels of Roden's horse.
The workmen's dinner-bell had rung as they approached, and now the factories were deserted, while within the cottages the midday meal occupied the full attention of the voluntary exiles. For the directors had found it necessary, in the interests of all concerned, to bind the workers by solemn contract never to leave the precincts of the works without permission.
Roden did not speak, but led the way across an open space now filled with carts, which were to be loaded during the day in readiness for an early despatch on the following morning. Mrs. Vansittart followed without asking questions. She was prepared to content herself with a very cursory visit.
They had not progressed thirty yards from the entrance gate, which Roden had opened with a key attached to his watch-chain, when the door of one of the cottages moved, and Von Holzen appeared. He was hatless, and came out into the sunshine rather hurriedly.
“Ah, madame,” he said, “you honour us beyond our merits.” And he stood, smiling gravely, in front of Mrs. Vansittart's horse.
She surreptitiously touched the animal with her heel, but Von Holzen checked its movement by laying his hand on the bridle.