“Mr. Maraton,” he said, “we will not argue on these lines.  I like to feel my feet upon the earth.  I like to deal with the things one knows about.  Grant me this, at least; that it is possible to reach the end at which you are striving, by milder means?”

“It may be,” Maraton admitted.  “I am not sure.  Milder means have been tried for a good many generations.  I tell you frankly that I do not believe it is possible by legislation to redistribute the wealth of the world.”

Lord Armley, from his seat amongst the shadows, smiled sarcastically.

“You, too, Mr. Maraton,” he murmured.  “What is your answer, I wonder, to the oft quoted question?  You may redistribute wealth, but how do you propose to keep it in a state of equilibrium?”

Maraton smiled.

“There would have to be three, perhaps half-a-dozen—­who can tell how many?—­redistributions by violent means,” he replied, “but remember that all this time, education, clean living, freedom from sordid anxieties, would be telling upon the lower orders.  As their physical condition improved, so would their minds.  As the conditions under which men live become more equal, so will their brains become more equal and their power of acquiring wealth.  This, remember, may be the work of a hundred years—­perhaps more—­but it is the end at which we should aim.”

“You absolutely mean, then,” Mr. Foley persisted, “to destroy the welfare of the country for this generation and perhaps the next, in order that a new people may arise, governed according to your methods, in ages which neither you nor I nor any of us will ever see?”

“That is what I mean,” Maraton assented.  “Need I remind you that if we had not possessed in the past men who gave their lives for the sake of posterity, the nations of the world would be even in a more backward condition than they are to-day?”

Mr. Foley smiled.

“Mr. Maraton,” he said, “now I am going to ask you this question.  To-morrow you go to Manchester to pronounce your doctrines.  To-morrow you are going to incite the working people of England practically to revolt.  Are you going to tell them that it is for posterity they must strike?  Do you mean, when you thunder at them from the platforms, to tell them the truth?—­to tell them that the good which you promise is not for them nor for their children, nor their children’s children, but for the unborn generations?  Do you mean to tell them this?”

Maraton was silent.  Lord Armley was watching him closely.  Mr. Foley’s eyes were bright, and a little flush had stained the parchment pallor of his cheeks.  He was feeling all the thrill of the fencer who has touched.