"Mrs. Wishart, what is to be done with the poor of our city?" Mr.
Dillwyn was saying.
"I don't know! I wish something could be done with them, to keep them from coming to the house. My cook turns away a dozen a day, some days."
"Those are not the poor I mean."
"They are poor enough."
"They are to a large extent pretenders. I mean the masses of solid poverty which fill certain parts of the city—and not small parts either. It is no pretence there."
"I thought there were societies enough to look after them. I know I pay my share to keep up the societies. What are they doing?"
"Something, I suppose. As if a man should carry a watering-pot to
Vesuvius."
"What in the world has turned your attention that way? I pay my subscriptions, and then I discharge the matter from my mind. It is the business of the societies. What has set you to thinking about it?"
"Something I have seen, and something I have heard."
"What have you heard? Are you studying political economy? I did not know you studied anything but art criticism."