fellows, but, save for a vague curiosity, I should say they live without conscious aim beyond that of keeping their families in comfort.  They have no religion, a matter of course; they talk incessantly of politics, knowing nothing better; but they are very far above the gross multitude.  I believe such men as these have a great part to play in social development—­that, in fact, they may become the great social reformers, working on those above them—­ the froth of society—­no less than on those below.’

He had laid down his half-finished cigar, and, having begun in a scrupulously moderate tone, insensibly warmed to the idealist fervour.  His face became more mobile, his eyes gave forth all their light, his voice was musically modulated as he proceeded in his demonstration.  He addressed himself to Annabel, perhaps unconscious of doing so exclusively.

Mr. Newthorpe muttered something of assent.  Paula was listening intently, but as one who hears of strange, far-off things, very difficult of realisation.

‘Now suppose one took a handful of such typical men,’ Egremont went on, ’and tried to inspire them with a moral ideal.  At present they have nothing of the kind, but they own the instincts of decency, and that is much.  I would make use of the tendency to association, which is so strong among them.  They have numberless benefit clubs; they stand together resolutely to help each other in time of need and to exact terms from their employers—­the fair fight, as the worthy Member for Vauxhall calls it.  Well, why shouldn’t they band for moral and intellectual purposes?  I would have a sort of freemasonry, which had nothing to do with eating and drinking, or with the dispensing of charity; it should be wholly concerned with spiritual advancement.  These men cannot become rich, and so are free from one kind of danger; they are not likely to fall into privation; they have a certain amount of leisure.  If one could only stir a few of them to enthusiasm for an ideal of life!  Suppose one could teach them to feel the purpose of such a book as “Sesame and Lilies,” which you only moderately care for, Miss Newthorpe—­’

‘Not so!’ Annabel broke in, involuntarily.  ’I think it very beautiful and very noble.’

‘What book is that?’ asked Paula with curiosity.

‘I’ll give it to you to read, Paula,’ her cousin replied.

Egremont continued: 

’The work of people who labour in the abominable quarters of the town would be absurdly insignificant in comparison with what these men might do.  The vulgar influence of half-taught revolutionists, social and religious, might be counteracted; an incalculable change for good might be made on the borders of the social inferno, and would spread.  But it can only be done by personal influence.  The man must have an ideal himself before he can create it in others.  I don’t know that I am strong enough for such an undertaking, but I feel the desire to try, and I mean to try.  What do you think of it?’