“Because we justify our existence and they do not. Our lives are a round of work; their lives are a round of luxury and pleasure. We earn the money and they spend it. We save and they waste. Do they spend it on the community? No. They spend it on themselves.” “They’re taxed and all that.” “So are we. And taxing is a wrong system anyway. All sources of wealth ought to pour straight into the State and return to everybody in the shape of dignified conditions of life. Money is the source of all evil to people and it ought not to be handled by people, but by the State. If you once knock the idea of money out of the human mind and teach it to think in different values and occupy itself, not with mean necessities and still meaner luxuries and possessions, but the things of the soul—then you get on a higher plane at once.” But she was more interested in things as they were. A man or two obviously admired her, and the fact that she sat beside Kellock did not seem to prevent their open admiration. This cheered her and put her into good spirits. “How cheeky the gentlemen are,” she said. “They don’t seem to have any manners at all. They look at you that bold, as if they’d known you all their lives.” “Because they’re rich and know that money is power. These silk-hatted brutes have got nothing better to do than to make eyes at every pretty woman they pass. Many of them have never done a stroke of honest work in their lives, and never intend to. They are lower than the tom cats and yet—that’s the amazing thing—satisfied with themselves—pleased with themselves—and treated as decent members of society by the trash like them. I’d have them breaking stones if I could, instead of insulting women with their goggling eyes.” “I dare say some of them are dukes and earls, if we only knew it,” said Medora. “Very likely indeed,” he admitted; “they’re pretty much what you’d expect dukes and earls to be.” But even Medora felt this was crude. “There’s plenty of good men among the Upper Ten,” she assured him. “You think if a chap isn’t born in the gutter, he can’t be any good.” This was the first of a succession of little snubs; though Jordan hardly felt them at the time. But looking back afterwards, he realised that Medora had her opinions and that, apparently, they did not always echo his own. He invited her to end the day where she pleased, and she chose a music hall. Here he was obviously and painfully ill at ease; and he was also surprised to see the extent of Medora’s enjoyment. He felt absolute astonishment to hear her laugh so heartily at comic songs on the old familiar lines, and still more amazed that sentimental ditties of the most puling description should have power to move her. She, for her part, could not fail to see that the entertainment cast him down. Not an item of the programme appealed to him and the smoke made him cough. As they came out, he hoped she had enjoyed it. “How could I with you so glum?” she asked.