There can be no need of giving in detail the conversation that ensued.  It is enough to say that Hollingsworth once more brought forward his rigid and unconquerable idea,—­a scheme for the reformation of the wicked by methods moral, intellectual, and industrial, by the sympathy of pure, humble, and yet exalted minds, and by opening to his pupils the possibility of a worthier life than that which had become their fate.  It appeared, unless he overestimated his own means, that Hollingsworth held it at his choice (and he did so choose) to obtain possession of the very ground on which we had planted our Community, and which had not yet been made irrevocably ours, by purchase.  It was just the foundation that he desired.  Our beginnings might readily be adapted to his great end.  The arrangements already completed would work quietly into his system.  So plausible looked his theory, and, more than that, so practical,—­ such an air of reasonableness had he, by patient thought, thrown over it,—­each segment of it was contrived to dovetail into all the rest with such a complicated applicability, and so ready was he with a response for every objection, that, really, so far as logic and argument went, he had the matter all his own way.

“But,” said I, “whence can you, having no means of your own, derive the enormous capital which is essential to this experiment?  State Street, I imagine, would not draw its purser strings very liberally in aid of such a speculation.”

“I have the funds—­as much, at least, as is needed for a commencement—­at command,” he answered.  “They can be produced within a month, if necessary.”

My thoughts reverted to Zenobia.  It could only be her wealth which Hollingsworth was appropriating so lavishly.  And on what conditions was it to be had?  Did she fling it into the scheme with the uncalculating generosity that characterizes a woman when it is her impulse to be generous at all?  And did she fling herself along with it?  But Hollingsworth did not volunteer an explanation.

“And have you no regrets,” I inquired, “in overthrowing this fair system of our new life, which has been planned so deeply, and is now beginning to flourish so hopefully around us?  How beautiful it is, and, so far as we can yet see, how practicable!  The ages have waited for us, and here we are, the very first that have essayed to carry on our mortal existence in love and mutual help!  Hollingsworth, I would be loath to take the ruin of this enterprise upon my conscience.”

“Then let it rest wholly upon mine!” he answered, knitting his black brows.  “I see through the system.  It is full of defects,—­ irremediable and damning ones!—­from first to last, there is nothing else!  I grasp it in my hand, and find no substance whatever.  There is not human nature in it.”