It would only pass into the hands of some other capitalist, and the working class would be no better off for my self-sacrifice.  Sir Charles cannot obey the command of Christ; I defy him to do it.  Let him give his land for a public park; only the richer classes will have leisure to enjoy it.  Plant it at the very doors of the poor, so that they may at last breathe its air, and it will raise the value of the neighboring houses and drive the poor away.  Let him endow a school for the poor, like Eton or Christ’s Hospital, and the rich will take it for their own children as they do in the two instances I have named.  Sir Charles does not want to minister to poverty, but to abolish it.  No matter how much you give to the poor, everything except a bare subsistence wage will be taken from them again by force.  All talk of practicing Christianity, or even bare justice, is at present mere waste of words.  How can you justly reward the laborer when you cannot ascertain the value of what he makes, owing to the prevalent custom of stealing it?  I know this by experience.  I wanted to pay a just price for my wife’s tomb, but I could not find out its value, and never shall.  The principle on which we farm out our national industry to private marauders, who recompense themselves by black-mail, so corrupts and paralyzes us that we cannot be honest even when we want to.  And the reason we bear it so calmly is that very few of us really want to.”

“I must study this question of value,” said Sir Charles dubiously, refilling his goblet.  “Can you recommend me a good book on the subject?”

“Any good treatise on political economy will do,” said Trefusis.  “In economics all roads lead to Socialism, although in nine cases out of ten, so far, the economist doesn’t recognize his destination, and incurs the malediction pronounced by Jeremiah on those who justify the wicked for reward.  I will look you out a book or two.  And if you will call on Donovan Brown the next time you are in London, he will be delighted, I know.  He meets with very few who are capable of sympathizing with him from both his points of view—­social and artistic.”

Sir Charles brightened on being reminded of Donovan Brown.  “I shall esteem an introduction to him a great honor,” he said.  “I had no idea that he was a friend of yours.”

“I was a very practical young Socialist when I first met him,” said Trefusis.  “When Brown was an unknown and wretchedly poor man, my mother, at the petition of a friend of his, charitably bought one of his pictures for thirty pounds, which he was very glad to get.  Years afterwards, when my mother was dead, and Brown famous, I was offered eight hundred pounds for this picture, which was, by-the-bye, a very bad one in my opinion.  Now, after making the usual unjust allowance for interest on thirty pounds for twelve years or so that had elapsed, the sale of the picture would have brought me in a profit of over seven hundred and fifty pounds, an unearned increment to