all his influence to prevent such contemptible doings. He held a
meeting in Belwick of all the New Wanleyers he could gather together: those who
came repudiated the outrage as useless and unworthy. On the whole, it seemed
probable that only a handful of good-for-nothings had been concerned in the
affair, probably men who had been loafing in the Belwick public-houses,
indisposed to look for work. The Fiery Cross and the Tocsin commented on the
event in their respective ways. The latter organ thought that an occasional
demonstration of this kind was not amiss; it was a pity that apparently innocent
individuals should suffer (an allusion to the death of Mrs. Eldon); but, after
all, what member of the moneyed classes was in reality innocent? An article on
the subject in the Fiery Cross was signed Richard Mutimer. It breathed righteous
indignation and called upon all true Socialists to make it known that they
pursued their ends in far other ways than by the gratification of petty malice.
A copy of this paper reached Wanley Manor. Hubert glanced over it.
    It lay by him when he received a visit from Mr. Wyvern the same evening.
    »How is it to be explained,« he asked; »a man like Westlake mixing himself
up with this crew?«
    »Do you know him personally?« the vicar inquired.
    »I have met him. But I have seen more of Mrs. Westlake. She is a tenth muse,
the muse of lyrical Socialism. From which of them the impulse came I have no
means of knowing, but surely it must have been from her. In her case I can
understand it; she lives in an æsthetic reverie; she idealises everything.
Naturally she knows nothing whatever of real life. She is one of the most
interesting women I ever met, but I should say that her influence on Westlake
has been deplorable.«
    »Mrs. Mutimer is greatly her friend, I believe,« said the vicar.
    »I believe so. But let us speak of this paper. I want, if possible, to
understand Westlake's position. Have you ever read the thing?«
    »Frequently.«
    »Now here is an article signed by Westlake. You know his books? How has he
fallen to this? His very style has abandoned him, his English smacks of the
street corners, of Radical clubs. The man is ruined; it is next to impossible
that he should ever again do good work, such as we used to have from him. The
man who wrote Daphne! Oh, it is monstrous