Their work, he told his hearers, was but just beginning.  They aimed at nothing less than a revolution, and revolutions were not brought about in a day.  None of them would in the flesh behold the reign of justice; was that a reason why they should neglect the highest impulses of their nature and sit contented in the shadow of the world’s mourning?  He spoke with passion of the millions disinherited before their birth, with infinite tenderness of those weak ones whom our social system condemns to a life of torture, just because they are weak.  One loved the man for his great heart and for his gift of moving speech.

His wife sat, as she always. did when listening intently, her body bent forward, one hand supporting her chin.  Her eyes never quitted his face.

To the second speaker it had fallen to handle in detail the differences of the hour.  Mutimer’s exordium was not inspiriting after the rich-rolling periods with which Mr. Westlake had come to an end; his hard voice contrasted painfully with the other’s cultured tones.  Richard was probably conscious of this, for he hesitated more than was his wont, seeking words which did not come naturally to him.  However, he warmed to his work, and was soon giving his audience clearly to understand how he, Richard Mutimer, regarded the proceedings of Comrade Roodhouse.  Let us be practical—­this was the burden of his exhortation.  We are Englishmen—­and women—­not flighty, frothy foreigners.  Besides, we have the blessings of free speech, and with the tongue and pen we must be content to fight, other modes of warfare being barbarous.  Those who in their inconsiderate zeal had severed the Socialist body, were taking upon themselves a very grave responsibility; not only had they troubled the movement internally, but they would doubtless succeed in giving it a bad name with many who were hitherto merely indifferent, and who might in time have been brought over.  Let it be understood that in this hall the true doctrine was preached, and that the ‘Fiery Cross’ was the true organ of English Socialism as distinguished from foreign crazes.  The strength of England had ever been her sobriety; Englishmen did not fly at impossibilities like noisy children.  He would not hesitate to say that the revolutionism preached in the newspaper called the ‘Tocsin’ was dangerous, was immoral.  And so on.

Richard was not at his best this evening.  You might have seen Mrs. Westlake abandon her attentive position, and lean back rather wearily; you might have seen a covert smile on a few of the more intelligent faces.  It was awkward for Mutimer to be praising moderation in a movement directed against capital, and this was not exactly the audience for eulogies of Great Britain at the expense of other countries.  The applause when the orator seated himself was anything but hearty.  Richard knew it, and inwardly cursed Mr. Westlake for taking the wind out of his sails.