de himself, and had the right to
dispose of himself; whereas it is society, civilisation, the
State--call it what you will--that has given him everything he
possesses, except his physical organs. Take a philosopher who prides
himself on his detachment from vulgar cares and desires, duties and
troubles, and looks down upon the world with pity or contempt. Suppose
the world--that is to say, his human kind--revenged itself by refusing
to have anything whatever to do with him, however indirectly; the
philosopher would soon find himself detached with a vengeance. And
suppose it possible to go further than that; suppose the despised world
could demand back from him all it had given, through the course of ages
to his ancestors in him; behold Mr. Philosopher literally up a tree--a
naked anthropoid, with a brain just capable of supplying his stomach
and--perhaps--of saving him from wild beasts."

Lord Dymchurch indulged a quiet mirth.

"You've got hold of a very serviceable weapon," he said, stretching his
legs before him, and clasping his hands behind his head. "I, for one,
would gladly be convinced against individualism. I'm afraid it's my
natural point of view, and I've been trying for a long time to get rid
of that old Adam. Go on with your idea about the organisation of
society. What ultimate form do you suppose nature to be aiming at?"

Dyce seemed to reflect for a moment. He asked himself, in fact, whether
Lord Dymchurch was at all likely to come upon that French work which,
pretty certainly, he had not yet read. The probability seemed slight.
In any case, cannot a theory be originated independently by two minds?

His eye lighting up with the joy of clear demonstration--to Dyce it was
a veritable joy, his narrow, but acute, mind ever tending to sharp-cut
system--he displayed the bio-sociological theory in its whole scope.
More than interested, and not a little surprised, Lord Dymchurch
followed carefully from point to point, now and then approving with
smile or nod. At the end, he was leaning forward, his hands grasping
his ankles, and his head nearly between his knees; and so he remained
for a minute when Dyce had ceased.

"I like that!" he exclaimed at length, the smile of boyish pleasure
sunny upon his face. "There's something satisfying about it. It sounds
helpful."

Help amid the confusing problems of life was what Lord Dymchurch
continually sought. In his private relations one of the most blameless
of men, he