"Please tell me," she said suddenly, "why do you attack my straw-plaiting? Is a co-operative farm any less of a stopgap?"
Instantly his face changed. He drew up his chair again beside her, as gay and keen-eyed as before.
"I can't argue it out now. There is so much to say. But do listen! I have a meeting in the village here next week to preach land nationalisation. We mean to try and form a branch of the Labourers' Union. Will you come?"
Marcella hesitated.
"I think so," she said slowly.
There was a pause. Then she raised her eyes and found his fixed upon her. A sudden sympathy—of youth, excitement, pleasure—seemed to rise between them. She had a quick impression of lightness, grace; of an open brow set in curls; of a look more intimate, inquisitive, commanding, than any she had yet met.
"May I speak to you, miss?" said a voice at the door.
Marcella rose hastily. Her mother's maid was standing there.
She hurried across the room.
"What is the matter, Deacon?"