“There must be some of them, though,” she answered, “who deserve to have a better time.  Of course, I have never been outside Tredowen, where everyone was contented and happy in their way, and it seems terrible to me just at first.  I can’t bear to think that everyone hasn’t at least a chance of happiness.”

“You are too young,” he said, “to bother your head about these things yet.  Wait until you have gathered in a little philosophy with the years.  Then you will understand how helpless you are to alter by ever so little the existing state of things, and it will trouble you less.”

“I,” she answered, “may, of course, be helpless, but what about those people who have huge fortunes, and still do nothing?”

“Why should they?” he answered coldly.  “This is a world for individual effort.  No man is strong enough to carry even a single one of his fellows upon his shoulders.  Charity is the most illogical and pernicious of all weaknesses.”

“Now you are laughing at me,” she declared.  “I mean men like that Mr. Wingrave, the American who has come to England to spend all his millions.  I have just been reading about him,” she added, pointing to an illustrated paper on the table.  “They say that his income is too vast to be put into figures which would sound reasonable; that he has estates and shooting properties, and a yacht which he has never yet even seen.  And yet he will not give one penny away.  He gives nothing to the hospitals, nothing to the poor.  He spends his money on himself, and himself alone!”

Wingrave smiled grimly.

“I am not prepared to defend my namesake,” he said; “but every man has a right to do what he likes with his own, hasn’t he?  And as for hospitals, Mr. Wingrave probably thinks, like a good many more, that they should be state endowed.  People could make use of them, then, without loss of self respect.”

She shook her head a little doubtfully.

“I can’t argue about it yet,” she said, “because I haven’t thought about it long enough.  But I know if I had all the money this man has, I couldn’t be happy to spend thousands and thousands upon myself while there were people almost starving in the same city.”

“You are a sentimentalist, you see,” he remarked, “and you have not studied the laws on which society is based.  Tell me, how does Mrs. Tresfarwin like London?”

Juliet laughed merrily.

“Isn’t it amusing?” she declared.  “She loves it!  She grumbles at the milk, and we have the butter from Tredowen.  Everything else she finds perfection.  She doesn’t even mind the five flights of stone steps.”

“Social problems,” Wingrave remarked, “do not trouble her.”

“Not in the least,” Juliet declared.  “She spends all her pennies on beggars and omnibus rides, and she is perfectly happy.”

Wingrave rose to go in a few minutes.  Juliet walked with him to the door.

“I am going to be really hospitable,” she declared.  “I am going to walk with you to the street.”