“That comes of my not being a poet,” said Trefusis.  “But we Socialists need to study the romantic side of our movement to interest women in it.  If you want to make a cause grow, instruct every woman you meet in it.  She is or will one day be a wife, and will contradict her husband with scraps of your arguments.  A squabble will follow.  The son will listen, and will be set thinking if he be capable of thought.  And so the mind of the people gets leavened.  I have converted many young women.  Most of them know no more of the economic theory of Socialism than they know of Chaldee; but they no longer fear or condemn its name.  Oh, I assure you that much can be done in that way by men who are not afraid of women, and who are not in too great a hurry to see the harvest they have sown for.”

“Take care.  Some of your lady proselytes may get the better of you some day.  The future husband to be contradicted may be Sidney Trefusis.  Ha! ha! ha!” Sir Charles had emptied a second large goblet of wine, and was a little flushed and boisterous.

“No,” said Trefusis, “I have had enough of love myself, and am not likely to inspire it.  Women do not care for men to whom, as Erskine says, everything is a question of figures.  I used to flirt with women; now I lecture them, and abhor a man-flirt worse than I do a woman one.  Some more wine?  Oh, you must not waste the remainder of this bottle.”

“I think we had better go, Brandon,” said Erskine, his mistrust of Trefusis growing.  “We promised to be back before two.”

“So you shall,” said Trefusis.  “It is not yet a quarter past one.  By-the-bye, I have not shown you Donovan Brown’s pet instrument for the regeneration of society.  Here it is.  A monster petition praying that the holding back from the laborer of any portion of the net value produced by his labor be declared a felony.  That is all.”

Erskine nudged Sir Charles, who said hastily, “Thank you, but I had rather not sign anything.”

“A baronet sign such a petition!” exclaimed Trefusis.  “I did not think of asking you.  I only show it to you as an interesting historical document, containing the autographs of a few artists and poets.  There is Donovan Brown’s for example.  It was he who suggested the petition, which is not likely to do much good, as the thing cannot be done in any such fashion However, I have promised Brown to get as many signatures as I can; so you may as well sign it, Erskine.  It says nothing in blank verse about the holiness of slaying a tyrant, but it is a step in the right direction.  You will not stick at such a trifle—­unless the reviews have frightened you.  Come, your name and address.”

Erskine shook his head.

“Do you then only commit yourself to revolutionary sentiments when there is a chance of winning fame as a poet by them?”

“I will not sign, simply because I do not choose to,” said Erskine warmly.