“The vanishing of clothes has done more for human equality than all the philanthropists’ efforts, or the anarchists’ steel blade,” remarked Sinclair.
“Now, Temple,” said Lord Somerville, “you must go with Wiggles, and taste some of your native air. I no more need your services, and you can tell the other servants that they can return to their houses. Our daily life is very much simplified.”
“Yes, my lord—I know fresh air is necessary to our lungs, but I have an idea which I should like to communicate to the Committee of Reforms.”
“Bravo, Temple! Have as many ideas as ever you can lodge in your head. We are putting high premiums on ideas.”
“There,” anxiously murmured Mrs Archibald, “I told you that would come. We shall be ridden over by that multitude of unemployed. Oh! Lionel, what are you doing?” And the poor, diaphanous lady closed her eyes in agony at the social chaos she mentally contemplated.
“My dear madam,” replied Lionel, “Danford is right when he says that our race can achieve the wildest Utopia, if only they can first see the practical working of it.”
Temple now left the room, carrying the tea-tray away with him.
“Do you not, Eva dear, feel bitter remorse for all the harm we have unconsciously inflicted?” inquired Gwen, taking her friend’s hand within hers.
“For my part,” broke in Mrs Archibald, “I have never felt so ashamed, as when that horrid man described us as _he_ sees us. I did not know what to do with myself, where to hide myself. I must confess that creature has made me feel conscious, and I felt hot waves burning me from head to toe.” Mrs Archibald pressed her hands over her forehead, whilst her breast heaved short, convulsive sobs.
“So did Adam and Eve blush when the Almighty made them feel conscious of their sin,” said Sinclair, as he leaned over the lounge of the poor, stricken-down woman. “Do not worry, Mrs Archibald; a blush at the right moment is a healthy feeling, and the shame which filled your being, at the description of your past, is the proof that the mirror faithfully gave you back your own image.”
“It’s all very well for you to speak—you have your lives fixed up, and I do not see much merit in your taking things jauntily, when you have chosen charming companions to help you. Look at me, all alone in this stupid, uninteresting world. What am I to do?” and the sobs became louder. “Even Lady Carey has deserted our side. The ship is sinking, and the waves are rushing over us.”