“And in the vacation I have been collecting evidence about ghosts—­you remember our arguments.  Though I did not tell you in my letters.”

“I’m sorry you’re still obdurate,” said Lewisham.  “I thought that was over.”

“And have you read ’Looking Backward’?”

“I want to.”

“I have it here with my other books, if you’d care for me to lend it to you.  Wait till I reach my table.  My hands are so full.”

They entered the laboratory together, Lewisham holding the door open courtly-wise, Miss Heydinger taking a reassuring pat at her hair.  Near the door was a group of four girls, which group Miss Heydinger joined, holding the brown-covered book as inconspicuously as possible.  Three of them had been through the previous two years with her, and they greeted her by her Christian name.  They had previously exchanged glances at her appearance in Lewisham’s company.

A morose elderly young demonstrator brightened momentarily at the sight of Lewisham.  “Well, we’ve got one of the decent ones anyhow,” said the morose elderly young demonstrator, who was apparently taking an inventory, and then brightening at a fresh entry.  “Ah! and here’s Smithers.”

CHAPTER X.

IN THE GALLERY OF OLD IRON.

As one goes into the South Kensington Art Museum from the Brompton Road, the Gallery of Old Iron is overhead to the right.  But the way thither is exceedingly devious and not to be revealed to everybody, since the young people who pursue science and art thereabouts set a peculiar value on its seclusion.  The gallery is long and narrow and dark, and set with iron gates, iron-bound chests, locks, bolts and bars, fantastic great keys, lamps, and the like, and over the balustrade one may lean and talk of one’s finer feelings and regard Michael Angelo’s horned Moses, or Trajan’s Column (in plaster) rising gigantic out of the hall below and far above the level of the gallery.  And here, on a Wednesday afternoon, were Lewisham and Miss Heydinger, the Wednesday afternoon immediately following that paper upon Socialism, that you saw announced on the notice-board in the hall.

The paper had been an immense success, closely reasoned, delivered with a disciplined emotion, the redoubtable Smithers practically converted, the reply after the debate methodical and complete, and it may be there were symptoms of that febrile affection known to the vulgar as “swelled ’ed.”  Lewisham regarded Moses and spoke of his future.  Miss Heydinger for the most part watched his face.

“And then?” said Miss Heydinger.

“One must bring these views prominently before people.  I believe still in pamphlets.  I have thought ...”  Lewisham paused, it is to be hoped through modesty.

“Yes?” said Miss Heydinger.

“Well—­Luther, you know.  There is room, I think, in Socialism, for a Luther.”

“Yes,” said Miss Heydinger, imagining it.  “Yes—­that would be a grand way.”