the baby in the neurotic state she's in. It's a matter of health for
both of them."

"Is everything a matter of health with you?"

"It is. Take any subject that you like. Take the poor themselves
--what's wanted? Health. Nothing on earth but health! The discoveries
and inventions of the last century have knocked the floor out of the old
order; we've got to put a new one in, and we're going to put it in,
too--the floor of health. The crowd doesn't yet see what it wants, but
they're looking for it, and when we show it them they'll catch on fast
enough."

"But who are 'you'?" murmured Hilary.

"Who are we? I'll tell you one thing. While all the reformers are
pecking at each other we shall quietly come along and swallow up the lot.
We've simply grasped this elementary fact, that theories are no basis for
reform. We go on the evidence of our eyes and noses; what we see and
smell is wrong we correct by practical and scientific means."

"Will you apply that to human nature?"

"It's human nature to want health."

"I wonder! It doesn't look much like it at present."

"Take the case of this woman."

"Yes," said Hilary, "take her case. You can't make this too clear to me,
Martin."

"She's no use--poor sort altogether. The man's no use. A man who's been
wounded in the head, and isn't a teetotaller, is done for. The girl's no
use--regular pleasure-loving type!"

Thyme flushed crimson, and, seeing that flood of colour in his niece's
face, Hilary bit his lips.

"The only things worth considering are the children. There's this
baby-well, as I said, the important thing is that the mother should be
able to look after it properly. Get hold of that, and let the other
facts go hang."

"Forgive me, but my difficulty is to isolate this question of the baby's
health from all the other circumstances of the case."

Martin grinned.

"And you'll make that an excuse, I'm certain, for doing nothing."

Thyme slipped her hand into Hilary's.

"You are a brute, Martin," she-murmured.

The young man turned on her a look that said: 'It's no use calling me a
brute; I'm proud of being one. Besides, you know you don't dislike it.'

"It's better to be a brute than an amateur," he said.

Thyme, pressing close to Hilary, as though he needed her protection,
cried out:

"Martin, you really are a Goth!"

Hilary was still smiling, but his face quivered.

"Not at all," he said. "Martin's powers of diagnosis do him c