Dyce quietly explained (a shadow of the Toplady smile about his lips) that his Socialism was not Social-democracy.

“For my own part,” declared Sir William, “I want to hear a little more of men, and a little less of government.  That we’re moving into Socialism of one kind or another is plain enough, and it goes against the grain with me.  I’m afraid we’re losing our vigour as individuals.  It’s all very well to be a good citizen, but it’s more important, don’t you think, to be a man?”

“I quite see your point, Sir William,” said Lashmar, his eyes brightening as they always did when he found his opportunity for borrowed argument and learning.  “Clearly there’s an excess to be avoided; individuality mustn’t be lost sight of.  But I can make absolutely no distinction between the terms Man and Citizen.  To my mind they are synonymous, for Man only came into being when he ceased to be animal by developing the idea of citizenship.  In my view, the source of all our troubles is found in that commonly accepted duality.  He didn’t exist in the progressive ancient world.  The dualism of Man and State began with the decline of Graeco-Roman civilisation, and was perpetuated by the teaching of Christianity.  The philosophy of Epicurus and of Zeno an utter detachment from the business of mankind—­prepared the way for the spirit of the Gospels.  So, at length, we get our notion of Church and State—­a separation ruinous to religion and making impossible anything like perfection in politics; it has thoroughly rooted in people’s minds that fatal distinction between Man as a responsible soul and Man as a member of society.  Our work is to restore the old monism.  Very, very slowly, mankind is working towards it.  A revolution greater than any of those commonly spoken of—­so wide and deep that it isn’t easily taken in even by students of history—­a revolution which is the only hope of civilisation, has been going on since the close of the thirteenth century.  We are just beginning to be dimly conscious of it.  Perhaps in another century it will form the principle of Liberalism.”

The baronet heard all this with some surprise; he had not been prepared for such solidity of doctrine from Lady Ogram’s candidate, and at the luncheon table.  As for May Tomalin, she had listened delightedly.  Her lips savoured the words “dualism” and “monism” of which she resolved to make brave use in her own argumentative displays.  The first to speak was Constance.

“We are getting on very quickly,” she said, in her driest and most practical tone, “towards one ideal of Socialism.  Look at the way in which municipalities are beginning to undertake, and sometimes monopolise, work which used to be left to private enterprize.  Before long we shall have local authorities engaged in banking, pawnbroking, coal-supplying, tailoring, estate agency, printing—­ all these, and other undertakings, are already proposed.”

May cast a glance of good-natured envy at the speaker.  How she wished she could display such acquaintance with public life.  But the information was stored for future use.