“We mustn't confuse Socialism with the Socialists,” I said; “that's the moral of it. I suppose if God were to find He had made a mistake in dates or something, and went back and annihilated everybody from Owen onwards who was in any way known as a Socialist leader or teacher, Socialism would be exactly where it is and what it is to-day—a growing realisation of constructive needs in every man's mind, and a little corner in party politics. So, I suppose, it will always be.... But they WERE a damned lot, Margaret!”
I looked up at the little noise she made. “TWICE!” she said, smiling indulgently, “to-day!” (Even the smile was Altiora's.)
I returned to my thoughts. They WERE a damned human lot. It was an excellent word in that connection....
But the ideas marched on, the ideas marched on, just as though men's brains were no more than stepping-stones, just as though some great brain in which we are all little cells and corpuscles was thinking them!...
“I don't think there is a man among them who makes me feel he is trustworthy,” said Margaret; “unless it is Featherstonehaugh.”
I sat taking in this proposition.
“They'll never help us, I feel,” said Margaret.
“Us?”
“The Liberals.”
“Oh, damn the Liberals!” I said. “They'll never even help themselves.”