The moment he mentioned her father and the strike, he saw he held the attention of the girl, who paused and looked at her step-mother. That perplexed lady was in a quandary. She did not wish to offend Mrs. Hope’s son, and she did not want her step-daughter to remain in the room. She hesitated, and was lost.
“Pray let me offer you a chair in your own drawingroom,” said Barney, with that gallantry which he always found irresistible, “and you, Mrs. Sartwell. Now we will have a comfortable informal chat, which I know will be of immense assistance in my talk with Mr. Sartwell, for I confess I am a little afraid of him.” Edna opened her eyes at this; she had several times heard people say they stood in awe of her father, and she never could understand why.
Mrs. Sartwell sat bolt upright and folded her hands on her lap, frowning at her step-daughter when she got the chance unseen by Barney. She did not at all like the turn events had taken, but saw no way of interfering without seeming rude to her guest.
“You see,” chirruped Barney, “the mater takes a great interest in the workingman; so do I.” He thought this noble sentiment would appeal to Edna Sartwell. “I think we all—we all—as it were—should feel a certain responsibility, don’t you know. You see what I mean, Mrs. Sartwell?”
“Certainly. It does you great credit, Mr. Hope,” replied the lady appealed to, although she uttered the phrase with some severity, as if it were an aspersion.
“Oh, not at all. I suppose it was born in me. I think it natural for all rightly brought up persons to take a deep interest in their fellow-creatures. Don’t you think so, Miss Sartwell?”
“Yes,” said Edna faintly, without looking up.
“For workmen are our fellow-creatures, you know,” cried Barney, with all the enthusiasm of a startling discovery.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” said Mrs. Sartwell, in gloomy tones.
“Quite so, quite so,” assented Barney, who took the remark as original. “I couldn’t have stated the case better if I had thought all day about it. Now the mater imagined that perhaps Mr. Sartwell would consent to meet the men and talk it over, making perhaps some trifling concessions, and then everything would be lovely. You see what I mean?”