“Thank you,” said Trefusis, and dismissed her. “Here is some good wine, some good water, some good fruit, and some good bread. I know that you cling to wine as to a good familiar creature. As for me, I make no distinction between it and other vegetable poisons. I abstain from them all. Water for serenity, wine for excitement. I, having boiling springs of excitement within myself, am never at a loss for it, and have only to seek serenity. However,” (here he drew a cork), “a generous goblet of this will make you feel like gods for half an hour at least. Shall we drink to your conversion to Socialism?” Sir Charles shook his head. “Come, Mr. Donovan Brown, the great artist, is a Socialist, and why should not you be one?” “Donovan Brown!” exclaimed Sir Charles with interest. “Is it possible? Do you know him personally?” “Here are several letters from him. You may read them; the mere autograph of such a man is interesting.” Sir Charles took the letters and read them earnestly, Erskine reading over his shoulder. “I most cordially agree with everything he says here,” said Sir Charles. “It is quite true, quite true.” “Of course you agree with us. Donovan Brown’s eminence as an artist has gained me one recruit, and yours as a baronet will gain me some more.” “But--” “But what?” said Trefusis, deftly opening one of the albums at a photograph of a loathsome room. “You are against that, are you not? Donovan Brown is against it, and I am against it. You may disagree with us in everything else, but there you are at one with us. Is it not so?” “But that may be the result of drunkenness, improvidence, or--” “My father’s income was fifty times as great as that of Donovan Brown. Do you believe that Donovan Brown is fifty times as drunken and improvident as my father was?” “Certainly not. I do not deny that there is much in what you urge. Still, you ask me to take a rather important step.” “Not a bit of it. I don’t ask you to subscribe to, join, or in any way pledge yourself to any society or conspiracy whatsoever. I only want your name for private mention to cowards who think Socialism right, but will not say so because they do not think it respectable. They will not be ashamed of their convictions when they learn that a baronet shares them. Socialism offers you something already, you see; a good use for your hitherto useless title.” Sir Charles colored a little, conscious that the example of his favorite painter had influenced him more than his own conviction or the arguments of Trefusis. “What do you think, Chester?” he said. “Will you join?” “Erskine is already committed to the cause of liberty by his published writings,” said Trefusis. “Three of the pamphlets on that shelf contain quotations from ‘The Patriot Martyrs.’” Erskine blushed, flattered by being quoted; an attention that had been shown him only once before, and then by a reviewer with the object of proving that the Patriot Martyrs were slovenly in their grammar.