“Well ... and...?” urged Toker eagerly.
Gwendoline, who had been standing behind the writing-table, now sat down, as she was frequently wont to do, on the arm of Toker’s chair. She put her arm around her father’s neck and said: “You have called all these prominent people here, haven’t you, in order that their words, which you permit to be so freely uttered, may have a wide audience, may arouse to convictions and to deeds; in a word, may make proselytes....”
“Yes, that is my intention.”
“Well, I believe it will succeed. I know of one enthusiastic proselyte already made by Miss Garlett.”
“You, my dear?”
“Yes, I. Let me have a share in your work; initiate me! I want to learn to have the same kind of ideas. I don’t believe that I lack the ability. Yesterday, I listened very attentively to the address of that ‘Schwingen’ poet. (And between us, if I am not mistaken, he is in love with Miss Garlett.) I could not understand all that he said, but still I understood enough to get some new light; the question is to make men, that is to say, their souls, fly up into higher regions.”
Quite correct, thought Toker; but that their souls may fly high, the main thing is to help their bodies out of wretchedness, depravity, hunger, and squalor—the masses must be able to free themselves. Aloud he said: “Just see, how my little girl has profited from the teachings of my speakers! Gwen, this gratifies me, indeed! Go on with your thinking and your learning.”
“But I should like also to do something, papa, and you must tell me what!”
“Just at this moment I can’t tell you what you will be capable of doing. First let what has been sowed in your little head during these last two days ripen. I have my doubts about such sudden conversions. Nine chances out of ten, such seeds will be blown away again.”
Gwendoline sprang to her feet: “Have you so little faith in me?” she exclaimed reproachfully. “No wonder, though, for up till now I have been such a superficial good-for-nothing thing.”