Fussle.  Thus a man may die of apoplexy brought on by a fit of passion.  Cure his temper, and you lessen the danger of apoplexy; that, I take it, is an illustration of what you mean.

Rollestone.  In its most external application it is; the question is where his bad temper comes from, and whether, as Mr Germsell would maintain, it is entirely due to his cerebral condition, and not to the moral qualities inherent in the force, which, acting on peculiar cerebral conditions, causes one man’s temper to differ from another’s.  It is not the liberated force which generates the temper.  For that you have to go farther back; and the reason why research is limited in this direction is not because it is impossible to go farther back, but because it must inevitably entail, as I have already said, acute personal suffering.  Nor, as these experiments must be purely personal, and involve experiences of an entirely novel kind, is it possible to discuss them except with those who have participated in them.  One might as well attempt to describe the emotion of love to a man whose affections had never been called forth.  If I have alluded to them so fully now, it is because they justify me in making the assertion, for which I can offer no other proof than they have afforded to me personally, that a force does exist in nature possessing an inherent spiritual potency—­I use the word spiritual for lack of a better—­which is capable of lifting humanity to a higher moral plane of daily living and acting than that which it has hitherto attained.  But I fear I am trespassing on your patience in having said thus much.

Lady Fritterly.  Oh no, Mr Rollestone; please go on.  There is something so delightfully fresh and original in all you are saying, I can’t tell you how much you interest me.

Germsell [aside].  I know a milkmaid quite as fresh and rather more original. [Aloud, looking at his watch.] Bless me! it is past six, and I have an appointment at the club at six.  So sorry to tear myself away, dear Lady Fritterly.  I can’t tell you how I have enjoyed the intellectual treat you have provided for me.

Lady Fritterly.  I thank you so much for coming.  I hope you will often look in on our Sundays.  I think, you know, that these little conversations are so very improving.

Germsell.  You may rely upon me; it is impossible to imagine anything more interesting. [Mutters as he leaves the room.] No, Lady Fritterly, this is the last time I enter this house, except perhaps to dinner.  You don’t catch me again making one of your Sunday afternoon collection of bores and idiots.  What an insufferable prig that Rollestone is!

Fussle [aside to Drygull].  Thank heaven, that pompous nuisance has taken himself off!

Drygull [aside to Fussle].  I don’t know which I dislike most—­the Pharisee of science or the Pharisee of religion.