ng forward, pointing
with outstretched hand to the country through which the train was
passing.

"This is the playground of England," he said. "Here the rich and idle
build themselves beautiful houses, plant delightful gardens, live
surrounded by a parasitic class, servants, ministers to luxury; try to
shut out, succeed to a great extent in shutting out all sense and memory
of real things, of that England where the world's work is done, the
England which lies in the smoky hinterland." He waved his hand with a
comprehensive gesture towards the north. "Far from all the prettinesses
of glorified villadom."

"I do think," said Miss Gibson, "that Surrey and Hampshire are sweetly
pretty."

Miss Gibson may be regarded, I suppose, as one of England's toys. It was
only natural that she should appreciate the playground. It was, so she
thought, a district very well suited to the enjoyment of life. She told
us how she had driven, in the motor of a wealthy member of Parliament,
through the New Forest. From time to time she had spent week-ends
at various well-appointed villas in different parts of the South of
England, and, as a nice-minded young woman should, had enjoyed these
holidays of hers. She frankly preferred the playground to that other,
more "real" England which Gorman contrasted with it, the England of the
midlands, where the toilers dwelt, in an atmosphere thick with smuts.

Mrs. Ascher, of course, took quite a different view. It filled her
with sadness to think that a small number of people should play amid
beautiful surroundings while a great number--she dwelt particularly on
the case of women who made chains--should live hard lives in hideous
places. Mrs. Ascher is more emotional than intellectual. The necessity
for consistency in a philosophy of life troubles her very little. As a
devout worshipper of art she ought to have realised that her goddess can
only be fitly honoured by people wealthy enough to buy leisure, that the
toiling millions want bread much more than they want beauty. I have
no quarrel with the description of the life of Birmingham as more
"real"--both Gorman and Mrs. Ascher kept using the word--than the life
of the Isle of Wight. Nor should I want to argue with any one who said
that beauty and art are the only true realities, and that the struggle
of the manufacturing classes for wealth is a striving after wind. But I
felt slightly irritated with Mrs. Ascher for not seeing that she cannot
have it