"Progress!" said Burgoyne. "The march of improvement for the bettering of the species. New blood—new blood!"
"Just so! Aristocracy of dollars is replacing aristocracy of birth," Pendleton commented. "It's the way of the world, since time began—money is the basis of our social structure, on it we stand, without it we fall."
"Doesn't culture count at all?" Devereux asked.
"Culture isn't considered in the first instance," Pendleton replied. "It's an asset but it isn't in the least essential. Riches with culture are desirable, but riches alone are sufficient. Culture is decreasing as riches increase."
"Just a trifle iconoclastic!" laughed Burgoyne. "You always were an idol breaker, Pendleton."
"Is this proof of it?" Pendleton asked, indicating those in the grill-room.
"Hum!—I reckon not," Burgoyne confessed, letting his eyes run over the crowd.
"Here are sixty or seventy of our best people, and how many belonged two generations ago—or even one generation? You and Devereux and I, and a half dozen others perhaps. The rest were nobodies. Yet to-day they outnumber us ten to one.—They have bought their way into the old clubs—their children have bought their way into the exclusive dancing classes, their wives have bought their way through the fashionable charities into the fashionable cotillons. Money—money—money! Everything is money and money is everything. The golden key unlocks all doors."
"The old order changeth, giving place"—began Burgoyne.
"Sentimentalize, that's right!" Pendleton exclaimed. "It's about all that's left to us to do—except to go along with the bunch, and keep our hands in our pockets to keep theirs out."