“I suppose it’s all right,” said Ned.  “But I can’t see what good it does myself.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, it’s no use saying one thing and meaning another.  This talk of ‘art’ seems to me selfish while the world to most people is a hell that it’s pain to live in.  I am sorry if I say what you don’t like.”

“Never mind that,” said Connie, as cheerfully as ever.  “You’ve been worrying, too.  Have it out, so that we can all jump on you at once!  I warn you, you won’t have an ally.”

“I suppose not,” answered Ned, hotly.  “You are all very kind and mean well, but do you know how people live, how they exist, what life outside is?”

Geisner had sat down in a low chair near by, his cigarette between his lips, his glass of wine and water on a shelf at his elbow.  The others looked on in amazement at the sudden turn of the conversation.  Connie smiled and nodded.  Ned stared fiercely round at Geisner, who nodded also.

“Then listen to me,” said Ned, bitterly.  “Is it by playing music in fine parlours that good is to be done?  Is it by drinking wine, by smoking, by laughing, by talking of pictures and books and music, by going to theatres, by living in clover while the world starves?  Why do you not play that music in the back streets or to our fellows?” he asked, turning to Geisner again.  “Are you afraid?  Ah, if I could only play it!”

“Ned!” cried Nellie, sharply.  But he went on, talking at Geisner: 

“What do you do for the people outside?  For the miserable, the wretched, those, weary of life?  I suppose you are all ’interested in the Labour movement.’  Well, what does all this do for it?  What do you do for it?  Would you give up anything, one puff of smoke, one drink of wine——­”

“Stop, Ned!  For shame’s sake!  How dare you speak to him like that?” Nellie interrupted, jumping up and coming between the two men.  Ned leaned eagerly forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes flaming, his face quivering, his teeth showing.  Geisner leaned back quietly, alternately sipping his wine and water and taking a whiff from his cigarette.

“Never mind,” said Geisner.  “Sit down, Nellie.  It doesn’t matter.”  Nellie sat down but she looked to Mrs. Stratton anxiously.  The two women exchanged glances.  Mrs. Stratton came quickly across to Geisner.

“It does matter,” she said to him, laying her hands on his head and shoulder and facing Ned thus.  “Not to you, of course, but to Ned there.  He does not understand, and I don’t think you understand everything either.  It takes a woman to understand it all, Ned,” and she laughed at the angry man.  “Why do you say such things to Geisner?  He does not deserve them.”

Ned did not answer.

“I’m not defending the rest of us, only Geisner.  If you only knew all he has done you would think of him as we do.”

“Connie!” exclaimed Geisner, flushing.  “Don’t.”

“Oh!  I shall.  If men will keep their lights under bushel baskets they must expect to get the covers knocked off sometimes.  Ned!  This man is a martyr.  He has suffered so for the people, and he has borne it so bravely.”