“I fear Mr. Lashmar is rather disappointing.  Rumour says that the philosophical theory of life and government which he put before us as original was taken word for word from a French book which he took for granted no one would have read.  I hope this is not true; it has a very unpleasant sound.”

Quite as unpleasant, thought Dymchurch, was Mrs. Toplady’s zeal in spreading the rumour.  He found no difficulty in crediting it.  The bio-sociological theory had occupied his thoughts for a time, and, in reflecting upon it now, he found it as plausible as any other; but it had no more power to interest him.  Lashmar, perhaps, was mere sophist, charlatan, an unscrupulous journalist who talked instead of writing.  Words, words!  How sick he was of the universal babble!  The time had taken for its motto that counsel of Mephisto:  Vor allem haltet euch an Worte!  And how many of these loud talkers believed the words they uttered, or had found them in their own minds?

And how many preachers of Socialism—­in this, that or the other form, had in truth the socialistic spirit?  Lashmar, with his emphasis on the obligation of social service—­was he not simply an ambitious struggler and intriguer, careless of everything but his own advancement?  Probably enough.  And, on the whole, was there ever an age so rank with individualism as this of ours, which chatters ceaselessly of self-subdual to the common cause?

“I, too,” thus he thought, “am as much an individualist as the others.  If I said that I cared a rap for mankind at large, I should be phrase-making.  Only, thank heaven!  I don’t care to advertise myself, I don’t care to make money.  I ask only to be left alone, and to satisfy in quiet my sense of self-respect.”

On the morrow, he was gone.

CHAPTER XXIX

“When you receive this letter, you will have already seen the result.  I knew how it would be, but tried to hope because you were hoping.  My poll is better than that of the last Liberal candidate, but Hollingford remains a Tory stronghold.  Shall I come to see you?  I am worn out, utterly exhausted, and can scarcely hold the pen.  Perhaps a few days at the sea-side would do me good, but what right have I to idle?  If you would like me to come, please wire to Alverholme Rectory.  Possibly you would rather I didn’t bring my gloom, now you have Len with you and are enjoying yourself.  Above all, be quite frank.  If you are too disappointed to care to see me, in heaven’s name, say so!  You needn’t fear its effect upon me.  I should be glad to have done with the world, but I have duties to discharge.  I wish you could have heard my last speech, there were good things in it.  You shall see my address of thanks to those who voted for me; I must try to get it widely circulated, for, as you know, it has more than local importance.  Breakspeare, good fellow, says that I have a great career before me; I grin, and can’t tell him