"I don't see, Mrs. Plessington," he was saying, "that all this amounts to more than a kind of Glorious District Visiting. That is how I see it. You want to attack people in their homes—before they cry out to you. You want to compel them by this Payment in Kind of yours to do what you want them to do instead of trying to make them want to do it. Now, I think your business is to make them want to do it. You may perhaps increase the amount of milk in babies, and the amount of whitewash in cottages and slums by your methods—I don't dispute the promise of your statistics—but you're going to do it at a cost of human self-respect that's out of all proportion——"
Uncle Hubert's voice, with that thick utterance that always suggested a mouthful of plums, came booming down the table. "All these arguments," he said, "have been answered long ago."
"No doubt," said Trafford with a faint asperity. "But tell me the answers."
"It's ridiculous," said Aunt Plessington, "to talk of the self-respect of the kind of people—oh! the very dregs!"
"It's just because the plant is delicate that you've got to handle it carefully," said Trafford.
"Here's Miss Gant," said Aunt Plessington, "she knows the strata we are discussing. She'll tell you they have positively no self-respect—none at all."
"My people," said Miss Gant, as if in conclusive testimony, "actually conspire with their employers to defeat me."
"I don't see the absence of self-respect in that," said Trafford.
"But all their interests——"
"I'm thinking of their pride."...