Sir Charles shook his head.
“Come, Mr. Donovan Brown, the great artist, is a Socialist, and why should not you be one?”
“Donovan Brown!” exclaimed Sir Charles with interest. “Is it possible? Do you know him personally?”
“Here are several letters from him. You may read them; the mere autograph of such a man is interesting.”
Sir Charles took the letters and read them earnestly, Erskine reading over his shoulder.
“I most cordially agree with everything he says here,” said Sir Charles. “It is quite true, quite true.”
“Of course you agree with us. Donovan Brown’s eminence as an artist has gained me one recruit, and yours as a baronet will gain me some more.”
“But—”
“But what?” said Trefusis, deftly opening one of the albums at a photograph of a loathsome room.
“You are against that, are you not? Donovan Brown is against it, and I am against it. You may disagree with us in everything else, but there you are at one with us. Is it not so?”