“Oh, no! That is a mere question of external symptoms. The disease itself is what is called a religious attitude of mind. It is the morbid desire to set up a fetich and adore it, to fall down and worship something. It makes little difference whether the something be Jesus or Buddha or a tum-tum tree. You don't agree with me, of course. You may be atheist or agnostic or anything you like, but I could feel the religious temperament in you at five yards. However, it is of no use for us to discuss that. But you are quite mistaken in thinking that I, for one, look upon the knifing as merely a means of removing objectionable officials—it is, above all, a means, and I think the best means, of undermining the prestige of the Church and of accustoming people to look upon clerical agents as upon any other vermin.”
“And when you have accomplished that; when you have roused the wild beast that sleeps in the people and set it on the Church; then——”
“Then I shall have done the work that makes it worth my while to live.”
“Is THAT the work you spoke of the other day?”
“Yes, just that.”
She shivered and turned away.
“You are disappointed in me?” he said, looking up with a smile.
“No; not exactly that. I am—I think—a little afraid of you.”
She turned round after a moment and said in her ordinary business voice:
“This is an unprofitable discussion. Our standpoints are too different. For my part, I believe in propaganda, propaganda, and propaganda; and when you can get it, open insurrection.”