!«
    »It is something of a problem to me,« Mr. Wyvern admitted. »Had he been a
younger man, or if his writing had been of a different kind. Yet his sincerity
is beyond doubt.«
    »I doubt it,« Hubert broke in. »Not his sincerity in the beginning; but he
must long since have ached to free himself. It is such a common thing for a man
to commit himself to some pronounced position in public life and for very shame
shrink from withdrawing. He would not realise what it meant. Now in the
revolutionary societies of the Continent there is something that appeals to the
imagination. A Nihilist, with Siberia or death before him, fighting against a
damnable tyranny - the best might sacrifice everything for that. But English
Socialism! It is infused with the spirit of shopkeeping; it appeals to the
vulgarest minds; it keeps one eye on personal safety the other on the
capitalist's strong-box; it is stamped commonplace, like everything originating
with the English lower classes. How does it differ from Radicalism, the most
contemptible claptrap of politics, except in wanting to hurry a little the rule
of the mob? Well, I am too subjective. Help me, if you can, to understand
Westlake.«
    Hubert was pale and sorrow-stricken; his movements were heavy with
weariness, but he had all at once begun to speak with the old fire, the old
scorn. He rested his chin upon his hand and waited for his companion's reply.
    »At your age,« said Mr. Wyvern, smiling half sadly, »I, too, had a habit of
vehement speaking, but it was on the other side. I was a badly paid curate
working in a wretched parish. I lived among the vilest and poorest of the
people, and my imagination was constantly at boiling-point. I can only suppose
that Westlake has been led to look below the surface of society and has been
affected as I was then. He has the mind of a poet; probably he was struck with
horror to find over what a pit he had been living in careless enjoyment. He is
tender-hearted; of a sudden he felt himself criminal, to be playing with
beautiful toys whilst a whole world lived only to sweat and starve. The appeal
of the miserable seemed to be to him personally. It is what certain sects call
conversion in religion, a truth addressing itself with unwonted and invincible
force to the individual soul.«
    »And you, too, were a Socialist?«
    »At that
