“Don’t you think,” asked the Doctor, eyeing the Altruist sharply, “that you create class distinctions in order to wipe them out? I thought that the idea of any class distinction ran counter to the principles of American democracy.”
“It is impossible to ignore the fact that the distinctions do exist,” answered the Altruist. “The lines of caste are just as exclusive here as in Europe.”
“And are you willing to forget them, and to tell those people that you meet them on terms of absolute equality? I think that you will do it,” smiled the Doctor, “just as long as you are not taken at your word.”
There was something about the Altruist that made him superior to petty annoyance of this kind. He was not angry.
“We can convince them of our sympathy, we can share with them our faith and our aspiration,” he said gently.
“My faith and aspiration would be a great support to them,” murmured Janet, her lip curling in self-scorn. “No, cousin Paul, just at present the relations between Providence and me are a little strained, and the greatest service I can do the world is to hold my peace. There is no command to go into all the world and preach the interrogation point.”
After beating the air for this length of time we began to work, and in ten minutes had formed a plan for a woman’s club. It was to meet every week at Barnet House. It was to be a literary club, carried on by reading and by lectures. Once a week there was to be a social evening.
“We must have a party at least as often as that,” pleaded the Altruist. “Our parties are a great success. The neighbours do so delight in lemonade.”
“In short,” said Janet, “we will elevate the masses by Swinburne and frappee!”
We reproved her for her flippancy, and proceeded to work out the details of our plan.