wonder why work should seem so hateful," she said.
"It's odd," said Denton. "I suppose it wouldn't be if it were not the thought of being ordered about. . . . I hope we shall have decent managers."
Elizabeth did not answer. She was not thinking of that. She was tracing out some thoughts of her own.
"Of course," she said presently, "we have been using up work all our lives. It's only fair—"
She stopped. It was too intricate.
"We paid for it," said Denton, for at that time he had not troubled himself about these complicated things.
"We did nothing—and yet we paid for it. That's what I cannot understand."
"Perhaps we are paying," said Elizabeth presently—for her theology was old-fashioned and simple.
Presently it was time for them to part, and each went to the appointed work. Denton's was to mind a complicated hydraulic press that seemed almost an intelligent thing. This press worked by the sea-water that was destined finally to flush the city drains—for the world had long since abandoned the folly of pouring
