"If we jump on this omnibus that's coming, it'll take us to the Suspension Bridge—Clifton, you know. Plenty of quiet spots about there."
The suggestion was accepted. On the omnibus they conversed as any casual acquaintances might have done. Glazzard occasionally inspected his companion's features, which were not vulgar, yet not pleasing. The young man had a habit of sucking in his cheeks, and of half closing his eyes as if he suffered from weak sight; his limbs twitched now and then, and he constantly fingered his throat.
"A fine view," remarked Glazzard, as they came near to the great cliffs; "but the bridge spoils it, of course."
"Do you think so? Not to my mind. I always welcome the signs of civilization."
Glazzard looked at him with curiosity, and the speaker threw back his head in a self-conscious, conceited way.
"Picturesqueness is all very well," he added, "but it very often means hardships to human beings. I don't ask whether a country looks beautiful, but what it does for the inhabitants."
"Very right and proper," assented Glazzard, with a curl of the lip.
"I know very well," pursued the moralist, "that civilization doesn't necessarily mean benefit to the class which ought to be considered first. But that's another question. It ought to benefit them, and eventually it must."
"You lean towards Socialism?"
"Christian Socialism if you know what that signifies."