Constance assented, with a certain vagueness.

“Of course.  And he delivers his message so brutally.”

“That, no doubt, increases its chance of acceptance.  The weak, who don’t know how else to assert, themselves, tend naturally to brutality.  Carlyle taught pretty much the same thing, at bottom; but his humour and his puritanism made the effect different.  Besides, the time wasn’t ripe then for the doctrine of irresponsible force; religion hadn’t utterly perished in the masses of men, as it has now.  Given a world without religious faith, in full social revolution, with possibilities of wealth and power dangled before every man’s eyes—­what can you expect but the prevalences of a more or less ferocious egoism?  We, who are not egoists”—­he looked into his companion’s eyes—­“yet are conscious of unusual strength, may, it seems to me, avail ourselves of the truth in Nietzsche, which, after all, is very much the same as my own theory of the selection of the fit for rule.  The difference is, that we wish to use our power for the common good, whilst Nietzsche’s teaching results in a return to sheer barbarism, the weak trampled because of their weakness.”

Constance approved.  Yes, their aim, undoubtedly, was the common good, and, whilst keeping this in view, they need not, perhaps, be over-fastidious as to the means they employed.  She had for years regarded herself as at war with society, in the narrow sense of the word; its creeds, great or small, had no validity for her; she had striven for what she deemed her rights, the rights of a woman born with intellect and will and imagination, yet condemned by poverty to rank among subordinates.  The struggle appeared to have brought her within view of triumph, and was it not to herself, her natural powers and qualities, that she owed all?  At this moment she felt her right to pursue any object which seemed to her desirable.  What was good for her, was good for the world at large.

The next morning they started at the usual hour for their ride, but the sky was cloudy, and, as they were leaving the park, spots of rain fell.  It was not by the lodge gates that they usually set forth; more convenient for their purpose was a postern in the wall which enclosed the greater part of Rivenoak; the approach to it was from the back of the house, across a paddock, and through a birch copse, where stood an old summer-house, now rarely entered.  Constance, with her own key, had just unlocked the door in the wall; she paused and glanced cloudward.

“I think it’ll be a shower,” said Lashmar.  “Suppose we shelter in the summer-house.”

They did so, and stood talking under the roof of mossy tiles.

“What have you worked at this morning?” asked Constance.

“Nothing particular.  I’ve been thinking.”

“I wish you would try to tell me how you worked out your bio-sociology.  You must have had a great deal of trouble to get together your scientific proofs and illustrations.”