a more exceeding weight of glory, or whether they will simply ruin
the national temper."

"It's wicked to be too luxurious, Egeria," said Tommy, with a sly
look at Atlas. "It's the hair shirt, not the pearl-studded bosom,
that induces virtue."

"Is it?" she asked innocently, letting her clear gaze follow
Tommy's. "You don't believe, Mr. Atlas, that modest people like
you, and me, and Tommy, and the Copleys, incur danger in being too
comfortable; the trouble lies in the fact that the other half is
too uncomfortable, does it not? But I am just beginning to think
of these things," she added soberly.

"Egeria," said Mrs. Jack sternly, "you may think about them as much
as you like; I have no control over your mental processes, but if
you mention single tax, or tenement-house reform, or Socialism, or
altruism, or communism, or the sweating system, you will be dropped
at Bideford. Atlas is only travelling with us because he needs
complete moral and intellectual rest. I hope, oh, how I hope, that
there isn't a social problem in Clovelly! It seems as if there
couldn't be, in a village of a single street and that a stone
staircase."

"There will be," I said, "if nothing more than the problem of
supply and demand; of catching and selling herrings."

We had time at Bideford to go into a quaint little shop for tea
before starting on our twelve-mile drive; time also to be dragged
by Tommy to Bideford Bridge, that played so important a part in