“Ideas,” I said, “count for more than I thought in the world.”
Margaret regarded me with that neutral expression behind which she was
accustomed to wait for clues.
“When you think of the height and depth and importance and wisdom of the
Socialist ideas, and see the men who are running them,” I explained....
“A big system of ideas like Socialism grows up out of the obvious common
sense of our present conditions. It's as impersonal as science. All
these men--They've given nothing to it. They're just people who have
pegged out claims upon a big intellectual No-Man's-Land--and don't feel
quite sure of the law. There's a sort of quarrelsome uneasiness....
If we professed Socialism do you think they'd welcome us? Not a man of
them! They'd feel it was burglary....”
“Yes,” said Margaret, looking into the fire. “That is just what I felt
about them all the evening.... Particularly Dr. Tumpany.”
“We mustn't confuse Socialism with the Socialists,” I said; “that's
the moral of it. I suppose if God were to find He had made a mistake in
dates or something, and went back and annihilated everybody from Owen
onwards who was in any way known as a Socialist leader or teacher,
Socialism would be exactly where it is and what it is to-day--a growing
realisation of constructive needs in every man's mind, and a little
corner in party politics. So, I suppose, it will always be.... But they
WERE a damned lot, Margaret!”
I looked up at the little noise she made. “TWICE!” she said, smiling
indulgently, “to-day!” (Even the smile was Altiora's.)
I returned to my thoughts. They WERE a damned human lot. It was an
excellent word in that connection....
But the ideas marched on, the ideas marched on, just as though men's
brains were no more than stepping-stones, just as though some great
brain in which we are all little cells and corpuscles was thinking
them!...
“I don't think there is a man among them who makes me feel he is
trustworthy,” said Margaret; “unless it is Featherstonehaugh.”