Julian shrugged his shoulders.

“I think we are all a little blind,” he remarked, “to the danger in which we stand through the great prosperity of Labour to-day.”

The Bishop leaned across the table.

“You have been reading Fiske this week.”

“Did I quote?” Julian asked carelessly.  “I have a wretched memory.  I should never dare to become a politician.  I should always be passing off other people’s phrases as my own.”

“Fiske is quite right in his main contention,” Mr. Stenson interposed.  “The war is rapidly creating a new class of bourgeoisie.  The very differences in the earning of skilled labourers will bring trouble before long—­the miner with his fifty or sixty shillings, and the munition worker with his seven or eight pounds—­men drawn from the same class.”

“England,” declared the Earl, indulging in his favourite speech, “was never so contented as when wages were at their lowest.”

“Those days will never come again,” Mr. Hannaway Wells foretold grimly.  “The working man has tasted blood.  He has begun to understand his power.  Our Ministers have been asleep for a generation.  The first of these modern trades unions should have been treated like a secret society in Italy.  Look at them now, and what they represent!  Fancy what it will mean when they have all learnt to combine!—­when Labour produces real leaders!”

“Can any one explain the German democracy?” Lord Shervinton enquired.

“The ubiquitous Fiske was trying to last week in one of the Reviews,” Mr. Stenson replied.  “His argument was that Germany alone, of all the nations in the world, possessed an extra quality or an extra sense—­I forget which he called it—­the sense of discipline.  It’s born in their blood.  Generations of military service are responsible for it.  Discipline and combination—­that might be their motto.  Individual thought has been drilled into grooves, just as all individual effort is specialised.  The Germans obey because it is their nature to obey.  The only question is whether they will stand this, the roughest test they have ever had—­whether they’ll see the thing through.”

“Personally, I think they will,” Hannaway Wells pronounced, “but if I should be wrong—­if they shouldn’t—­the French Revolution would be a picnic compared with the German one.  It takes a great deal to drive a national idea out of the German mind, but if ever they should understand precisely and exactly how they have been duped for the glorification of their masters—­well, I should pity the junkers.”

“Do your essays in journalism,” the Bishop asked politely, “ever lead you to touch upon Labour subjects, Julian?”

“Once or twice, in a very mild way,” was the somewhat diffident reply.

“I had an interesting talk with Furley this morning,” the Prime Minister observed.  “He tells me that they are thinking of making an appeal to this man Paul Fiske to declare himself.  They want a leader—­they want one very badly—­and thank heavens they don’t know where to look for him!”