sinned against the hive: this
infernal hive, herd, pack, swarm, whichever word expressed what he felt
to be the degradation of an interdependent existence. Mankind was become
a great complication of machinery fed by gold and directed by fear.
Something was needed to destroy this gregarious organism. War and
pestilence must come; but in the past these two had come often enough,
and mankind was the same afterward. This ant-hill of a globe had been
ravaged often enough, but the ants were all busy again carrying their
mean little burdens of food hither and thither in affright for the
comfort of their mean little lives.

"And I'm as bad as any of them," said Michael to himself. "I know I have
obligations in Leppard Street, and I've run away from them because I'm
afraid of what people will think. Of course, I always fail. I'm a
coward."

He could not stay any longer at Hardingham. He must go and see about
Mrs. Smith now. Society would be seizing her soon and bringing her
miserable life to an end in whitewashed prison corridors. He must do
something for Meats. Perhaps he would not be able to save him from
death, but he must not sit here ringing bells for butlers called Dawkins
to feed inspectors called Dawkins.

Stella came in with the first roses of the year.

"Aren't they beauties?"

"Yes, splendid. I'm going up to town this afternoon."

"But not for long?"

"I don't know. It depends. Do you know, Stella, it's an extraordinary
thing, but ever since you've practically given up playing, I feel very
much more alive. How do you account for that?"

"Well, I haven't given up playing for one thing," Stella contradicted.

"Stella do you ever feel inspired nowadays?"

"Not so much as I did," she admitted.

"I feel now as if I were on the verge of an inspiration."

"Not another Lily," she said quickly, with half a laugh.

"You've no right to sneer at me about that," he said fiercely. "You must
be very careful, you know. _You'll_ become flabby, if you aren't
careful, here at Hardingham."

"Oh, Michael!" she laughed. "Don't look at me as if you were a Major
Prophet. I won't become flabby. I shall start composing at once."

"There you are!" he cried triumphantly. "Never say again that I can't
wake you up."

"You did not wake me up."

"I did. I did. And do you know I believe I've discovered that I'm an
anarchist?"

"Is that your inspiration?"

"Who knows? It may be."

"Well, don't come and be anarchical down her