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of the new French and German field guns。 Wrassleton joined in and a
little drunken shrivelled Oxford don of some sort with a black…
splashed shirt front who presently silenced them all by the
immensity and particularity of his knowledge of field artillery。
Then the talk drifted to Sedan and the effect of dead horses upon
drinking…water； which brought Wrassleton and Weston Massinghay into
a dispute of great vigour and emphasis。 〃The trouble in South
Africa；〃 said Weston Massinghay； 〃wasn't that we didn't boil our
water。 It was that we didn't boil our men。 The Boers drank the
same stuff we did。 THEY didn't get dysentery。〃
That argument went on for some time。 I was attacked across the
table by a man named Burshort about my Endowment of Motherhood
schemes； but in the gaps of that debate I could still hear Weston
Massinghay at intervals repeat in a rather thickened voice： 〃THEY
didn't get dysentery。〃
I think Evesham went early。 The rest of us clustered more and more
closely towards the drier end of the room； the table was pushed
along； and the area beneath the extinguished conflagration abandoned
to a tinkling； splashing company of pots and pans and bowls and
baths。 Everybody was now disposed to be hilarious and noisy； to say
startling and aggressive things； we must have sounded a queer
clamour to a listener in the next room。 The devil inspired them to
begin baiting me。 〃Ours isn't the Tory party any more；〃 said
Burshort。 〃Remington has made it the Obstetric Party。〃
〃That's good！〃 said Weston Massinghay； with all his teeth gleaming；
〃I shall use that against you in the House！〃
〃I shall denounce you for abusing private confidences if you do；〃
said Tarvrille。
〃Remington wants us to give up launching Dreadnoughts and launch
babies instead；〃 Burshort urged。 〃For the price of one Dreadnought〃
The little shrivelled don who had been omniscient about guns joined
in the baiting； and displayed himself a venomous creature。
Something in his eyes told me he knew Isabel and hated me for it。
〃Love and fine thinking；〃 he began； a little thickly； and knocking
over a wine…glass with a too easy gesture。 〃Love and fine thinking。
Two things don't go together。 No philosophy worth a damn ever came
out of excesses of love。 Salt Lake CityPiggottAgAgapemone
againno works to matter。〃
Everybody laughed。
〃Got to rec'nise these facts；〃 said my assailant。 〃Love and fine
think'n pretty phraseattractive。 Suitable for p'litical
dec'rations。 Postcard； Christmas； gilt lets； in a wreath of white
flow's。 Not oth'wise valu'ble。〃
I made some remark； I forget what； but he overbore me。
Real things we want are HateHate and COARSE think'n。 I b'long to
the school of Mrs。 F's Aunt〃
〃What？〃 said some one； intent。
〃In 'Little Dorrit；'〃 explained Tarvrille； 〃go on！〃
〃Hate a fool；〃 said my assailant。
Tarvrille glanced at me。 I smiled to conceal the loss of my temper。
〃Hate；〃 said the little man； emphasising his point with a clumsy
fist。 〃Hate's the driving force。 What's m'rality？hate of rotten
goings on。 What's patriotism？hate of int'loping foreigners。
What's Radicalism？hate of lords。 What's Toryism？hate of
disturbance。 It's all hatehate from top to bottom。 Hate of a
mess。 Remington owned it the other day； said he hated a mu'll。
There you are！ If you couldn't get hate into an election； damn it
（hic） people wou'n't poll。 Poll for love！no' me！〃
He paused； but before any one could speak he had resumed。
〃Then this about fine thinking。 Like going into a bear pit armed
with a tagletalgenttalgent galv'nometer。 Like going to fight a
mad dog with Shasepear and the Bible。 Fine thinkingwhat we want
is the thickes' thinking we can get。 Thinking that stands up alone。
Taf Reform means work for all； thassort of thing。〃
The gentleman from Cambridge paused。 〃YOU a flag！〃 he said。 〃I'd
as soon go to ba'ell und' wet tissue paper！〃
My best answer on the spur of the moment was：
〃The Japanese did。〃 Which was absurd。
I went on to some other reply； I forget exactly what； and the talk
of the whole table drew round me。 It was an extraordinary
revelation to me。 Every one was unusually careless and outspoken；
and it was amazing how manifestly they echoed the feeling of this
old Tory spokesman。 They were quite friendly to me； they regarded
me and the BLUE WEEKLY as valuable party assets for Toryism； but it
was clear they attached no more importance to what were my realities
than they did to the remarkable therapeutic claims of Mrs。 Eddy。
They were flushed and amused； perhaps they went a little too far in
their resolves to draw me； but they left the impression on my mind
of men irrevocably set upon narrow and cynical views of political
life。 For them the political struggle was a game； whose counters
were human hate and human credulity； their real aim was just every
one's aim； the preservation of the class and way of living to which
their lives were attuned。 They did not know how tired I was； how
exhausted mentally and morally； nor how cruel their convergent
attack on me chanced to be。 But my temper gave way； I became tart
and fierce； perhaps my replies were a trifle absurd； and Tarvrille；
with that quick eye and sympathy of his； came to the rescue。 Then
for a time I sat silent and drank port wine while the others talked。
The disorder of the room； the still dripping ceiling； the noise； the
displaced ties and crumpled shirts of my companions； jarred on my
tormented nerves。 。 。 。
It was long past midnight when we dispersed。 I remember Tarvrille
coming with me into the hall； and then suggesting we should go
upstairs to see the damage。 A manservant carried up two flickering
candles for us。 One end of the room was gutted； curtains； hangings；
several chairs and tables were completely burnt； the panelling was
scorched and warped； three smashed windows made the candles flare
and gutter； and some scraps of broken china still lay on the puddled
floor。
As we surveyed this； Lady Tarvrille appeared； back from some party；
a slender； white…cloaked； satin…footed figure with amazed blue eyes
beneath her golden hair。 I remember how stupidly we laughed at her
surprise。
2
I parted from Panmure at the corner of Aldington Street； and went my
way alone。 But I did not go home； I turned westward and walked for
a long way； and then struck northward aimlessly。 I was too
miserable to go to my house。
I wandered about that night like a man who has discovered his Gods
are dead。 I can look back now detached yet sympathetic upon that
wild confusion of moods and impulses； and by it I think I can
understand； oh！ half the wrongdoing and blundering in the world。
I do not feel now the logical force of the process that must have
convinced me then that I had