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"It's that content we want to kill. Ah! at last!" and Watton clapped loudly, followed by about half the meeting, while the rest sat silent. Then Tressady perceived that the chair-woman had called upon Lady Maxwell to move the next resolution, and that the tall figure had risen. She came forward slowly, glancing from side to side, as though doubtful where to look for her friends.
I daresay," said Watton. "Well, we're going up, too, to look after her." As they walked on they talked over the general situation in the district, and Watton explained what he knew of this particular meeting. In the first place, he repeated, he could not see that Lady Maxwell understood as yet the sort of opposition that the Bill was rousing, especially in these East End districts.
He was in the mood again to-night to feel it a kind of impertinence, this endless, peering anxiety about a world you never planned and cannot mend. Whose duty is it to cry for the moon? "Better get down here, I think," said Watton, signalling to the tram-conductor, "and find out whether they have really gone, or not."
But he was not left to grapple with it alone, for Lady Leven looked up quickly. "Mr. Watton, will you please take Lady Maxwell's tea away if she mentions the word 'case' again? We gave her fair warning." Lady Maxwell hastily clasped both her hands round her tea-cup. "Betty, we have discussed the opera for at least twenty minutes." "Yes at peril of our lives!" said Lady Leven.
Watton raised her shoulders. "She sent a note in to me at half-past eight to say her mother wasn't well, and she was wanted at home. She just rushed in to say good-bye to me, chattered a great deal, kissed everybody a great deal and I know no more. I hear she had breakfast and a fly, which is all I troubled myself about. I never interfere with the modern young woman."
Still she pressed her hands on her eyes he was distinguished; she saw that plainly already. He would be welcome anywhere. "And we are not distinguished that is just it. We are small people, in a rather dull set. And I have had hard work to make anything of it. Aunt Watton was very lucky to marry as she did.
Watton was a large, commanding woman, who seldom thought it worth while to disguise any disapproval she might feel and she had a great deal of that commodity to expend, both on persons and institutions. George hastened to propitiate her with the usual futilities: he had supposed that he was in excellent time, his watch had been playing tricks, and so on. Mrs.
It was one of his strongest characteristics, this fastidious and even haughty dislike of chatter about other people's private affairs, a dislike which, in the present case, had been strengthened by his growing antipathy to Harding. "How should he know?" said Fontenoy, angrily. He was glad enough to use Watton as a political tool, but had never yet admitted him to the smallest social intimacy.
"All the more reason for rehearsal," he said. "However, really, they won't do badly this time." "Edward is one of the persons," said Mrs. Watton in a low aside to Lord Fontenoy, "who think you can make friends with people the lower orders by shaking hands with them, showing them Burne-Jones's pictures, and singing 'The Messiah' with them. I had the same idea once. Everybody had.
He had once taken it for granted that every woman possessed them in some degree. Or, was it only since he had found them in this unexampled fulness and wealth that he had begun to thirst for them in this way? He made himself face the question. "One needn't lie to oneself!" At Aldgate, as he was making his way out of the station, he stumbled upon Edward Watton. "Hullo! You bound for No. 20, too?"
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