“I should consider it so, and I understand you do, too.”

Cord did not move an eyelash; this was an absolutely new form of attack.  It had certainly never crossed his mind that any objection could come from the Moreton family.

“You consider it unfortunate?” said Eddie, as if it would be mere insolence on Ben’s part to object to his brother’s marrying anyone.

“Will you give me your reasons for objecting?” said Cord.

Ben smiled.  “You ought to understand them,” he said, “for I imagine they’re pretty much the same as your own.  I mean they are both founded on class consciousness.  I feel that it will be destructive to the things I value most in David to be dependent on, or associated with, the capitalistic group.  Just as you feel it will be destructive to your daughter to be married to a tutor—­a fellow with radical views and a seditious brother—­”

“One moment, one moment,” said Cord; “you’ve got this all wrong so far as I’m concerned.  I do most emphatically disagree with the radical propaganda.  I think the radical is usually just a man who hasn’t got something he wants.”

“And the conservative is a man who wants to keep something he’s got,” said Ben, less hostilely than he had spoken to Eddie.

“Exactly, exactly,” said Cord.  “In ideality there isn’t much to choose between them, but, generally speaking, I have more respect for the man who has succeeded in getting something to preserve than for the man who hasn’t got anything to lose.”

“If their opportunities were equal.”

“I say in general.  There is not much to choose between the two types; but there is in my opinion a shade in favor of the conservative on the score of efficiency, and I am old-fashioned perhaps, but I like efficiency.  If it came to a fight, I should fight on the conservative side.  But this is all beside the point.  My objections to your brother, Mr. Moreton, are not objections to his group or class.  They are personal to him.  Damned personal.”

“You don’t like David?”

“Why, he’s an attractive young fellow, but, if you’ll forgive my saying so, Mr. Moreton, I don’t think he’s any good.  He’s weak, he’s idle, he entirely lacks that aggressive will that—­whether we have your revolution or not—­is the only bulwark a woman has in this world.  Why, Mr. Moreton, you are evidently a very much more advanced and dangerous radical than your brother, but I should not have half the objection to you that I have to him.  There is only one thing that makes a difference in this world—­character.  Your brother hasn’t got it.”

For an instant the perfect accuracy of Cord’s statements about David left Ben silent.  Then he pulled himself together and said, with a firmness he did not wholly feel: 

“You hardly do David justice.  He may not have great force, but he has talent, great sweetness, no vices—­”

“Oh, quite, quite, quite, quite,” said Cord, with a gesture of his long hand that should somehow have recalled to Ben the motion of a hand he had recently kissed.