“You must not take Mr. Brooks too seriously on the subject of the poor people,” he said, the mockery of his smile well matched in his tone.  “Brooks is an enthusiast—­one, I am afraid, of those misguided people who have barred the way to progress for centuries.  If only they could be converted!”

Lady Caroom sighed.

“Oh, dear, how enigmatic!” she exclaimed.  “Do be a little more explicit.”

“Dear lady,” he continued, turning to her, “it is not worth while.  Yet I sometimes wonder whether people realize how much harm this hysterical philanthropy—­this purely sentimental faddism, does; how it retards the natural advance of civilization, throws dust in people’s eyes, salves the easy conscience of the rich man, who bargains for immortality with a few strokes of the pen, and finds mischievous occupation for a good many weak minds and parasitical females.  Believe me, that all personal charity is a mistake.  It is a good deal worse than that.  It is a crime.”

Sybil rose up, and a little unusual flush had stained her cheeks.

“I still do not understand you in the least, Lord Arranmore,” she said.  “It seems to me that you are making paradoxical and ridiculous statements, which only bewilder us.  Why is charity a crime?  That is what I should like to hear you explain.”

Lord Arranmore bowed slightly.

“I had no idea,” he said, leaning his elbow upon the mantelpiece, “that I was going to be inveigled into a controversy.  But, my dear Sybil, I will do my best to explain to you what I mean, especially as at your age you are not likely to discover the truth for yourself.  In the first place, charity of any sort is the most insidious destroyer of moral character which the world has ever known.  The man who once accepts it, even in extremes, imbibes a poison from which his system can never be thoroughly cleansed.  You let him loose upon society, and the evil which you have sown in him spreads.  He is like a man with an infectious disease.  He is a source of evil to the community.  You have relieved a physical want, and you have destroyed a moral quality.  I do not need to point out to you that the balance is on the wrong side.”

Sybil glanced across at Brooks, and he smiled back at her.

“Lord Arranmore has not finished yet,” he said.  “Let us hear the worst.”

Their host smiled.

“After all,” he said, “why do I waste my breath?  From the teens to the thirties sentiment smiles.  It is only later on in life that reason has any show at all.  Yet you should ask yourselves, you eager self-denying young people, who go about with a healthy moral glow inside because you have fed the poor, or given an hour or so of your time to the distribution of reckless charity-you should ask yourselves:  What is the actual good of ministering to the outward signs of an internal disease?  You are simply trying to renovate the outside when the inside is filthy.  Don’t you see, my