“Critchett!” says Bertram, and points with stony gaze to the printer’s devil, “turn that boy out of the room.” Critchett, reluctantly touching anything so sooty, takes him by the collar and drives him before him out of the room. Marlow picks up the torn proofs. “Who’ll pay for the setting-up? asks this dear child. Unused proofs are, I suppose, first cousins to spilt milk and spoilt powder. Mayn’t we read this article? The title is immensely suggestive--‘Fist-right and Brain-divinity.’ Are you feloniously sympathetic with the Tooting bomb?” Bertram takes the torn proofs from him in irritation and throws them into the open drawer of a cabinet. “The essay is addressed to persons of intelligence and with principle,” he says, significantly. “But it seems that Fanshawe has neither, if he fail to appreciate it?” “Fanshawe has both; but there are occasional moments in which he recollects that he has some subscribers in Philistia.” “Fanshawe knows where his bread is buttered,” chuckles the duke; “knows where his bread is buttered.” “If Fanshawe don’t publish it he won’t pay for it, will he?” asks Marlow, with some want of tact. “I do not take payment for opinions,” replies Bertram, _au bout des lèvres_, and much annoyed at the turn the conversation has taken. “Most people run opinions in order to get paid for ’em,” says the duke, with a chuckle. “Why are you not in Parliament, Mr. Bertram?” asks Cicely Seymour. “In Parliament!” repeats Bertram, with the faintness of horror; incredulous that he can hear aright. “Well, yes; have I said anything so very dreadful?” “Oh, my dear Cicely!” says Lady Southwold. “Ever since Wilfrid came of age we have all been at him about that; he might have had a walk over for Sax-Stoneham, or for Micklethorpe, at any election, but he would never even let himself be nominated.” Bertram shrugs his shoulders in ineffable disgust. “Two Tory boroughs!” “You could have held any opinions you had chosen. Toryism is a _crépon changeant_ nowadays; it looks exactly like Radicalism very often, and only differs from it in being still more outrageous.” “But perhaps Mr. Bertram’s objection is to all representative government?” says Cicely Seymour. Bertram glances gratefully at her. “Precisely so, Miss Seymour.” “But what could you substitute?” “Oh, my dear Cicely, read his paper the _Age to Come_, and pray spare us such a discussion before dinner,” says Lady Southwold, with impatience. “But what would you substitute?” says Cicely Seymour, with persistent interest in the topic. “Yes; what would you substitute?” asks the practical politician.