"No, the glory of this is that it is positive. It strides forward. It builds; it——"
"It builds what? Let's be practical. That sort of talk, up to the present anyway, has mostly built Agapemones."
Muriel Lister frowned. "No," she said. "The Temple of Common Things."
Arnold sucked his pipe. "I fear I can't follow so quickly," he retorted cynically.
"You wouldn't. But, don't you see? This creed doesn't seek an æsthetic hybrid sensual beauty. When the beggar-man had his eyes opened, what was it seemed beautiful to him? Eh, what?"
Paul smiled. "His three-legged stool," he said, "and his little hovel."
"Exactly. Clay. The beauty of gold-brown earth." And Miss Lister relapsed into silence.
"I still don't see the gospel," said Arnold.
"You're born blind, then," retorted the girl.
"Well," returned Arnold, "be a little more explicit. Get on with it."