's aesthetic
neutrality stirs me up."

"I am neither aesthetic nor neutral," remarked the guest, as if
casually.

Denzil laughed.

Lilian, after waiting for a further declaration from Glazzard, which
did not come, said, in her soft tones:

"You express yourself so vehemently, Denzil."

"Why not? These are obvious truths. Of course I could speak just as
strongly on the Conservative side with regard to many things. I can't
say that I have much faith in the capacity or honesty of the mass of
Radical voters. If I found myself at one of the clubs of which Glazzard
speaks, I should very likely get hooted down as an insolent aristocrat.
I don't go in for crazy extremes. There'll never be a Utopia, and it's
only a form of lying to set such ideals before the multitude. I believe
in the distinction of classes; the only class I would altogether
abolish is that of the hungry and the ragged. So long as nature doles
out the gift of brains in different proportions, there must exist
social subordination. The true Radical is the man who wishes so to
order things that no one will be urged by misery to try and get out of
the class he is born in."

Glazzard agreed that this was a good way of putting it, and thereupon
broached a subject so totally different that politics were finally laid
aside.

When Lilian rose and withdrew, the friends remained for several minutes
in silence. They lighted cigarettes, and contemplatively watched the
smoke. Of a sudden, Quarrier bent forward upon the table.

"You shall have the explanation of this some day," he said, in a low
friendly voice, his eyes lighting with a gleam of heartfelt confidence.

"Thanks!" murmured the other.

"Tell me--does she impress you favourably?"

"Very. I am disposed to think highly of her."

Denzil held out his hand, and pressed the one which Glazzard offered in
return.

"You cannot think too highly--cannot possibly! She has a remarkable
character. For one thing, I never knew a girl with such strong
sympathies--so large-hearted and compassionate. You heard her remark
about the beggars; if she had her own way, she would support a colony
of pensioners. Let the sentimentalists say what they like, that isn't a
common weakness in women, you know. Her imagination is painfully
active; I'm afraid it causes her a great deal of misery. The other day
I found her in tears, and what do you think was the reason?--she had
been reading in some history about a poor fellow who wa