“I tell you what I think,” said Jane. “I think Mr. Ember is mad. That is to say, I think he is the sort of fanatic who sees what he wants and sets out to get it, without knowing half the difficulties and obstacles that block the way. When he does begin to know them he doesn’t care, he just goes along blind. Where a reasonable man would alter his plan to suit the circumstances, this sort of fanatic just goes on because he’s made his plan and will stick to it whatever happens. He isn’t governed by reason at all. He doesn’t care what risks he runs, or what risks he makes other people run. He goes right on, whatever happens. If the next step is over a precipice he’ll take it. He must go on. Mr. Ember is like that. I think he is mad.” Mr. Molloy stared hard at Jane, then he nodded slowly three times. “Now you’re not like that,” said Jane. “You’re reasonable. You don’t want to run appalling risks when there’s absolutely nothing to be gained by it. Of course, every one’s willing to run risks if it’s worth while. I’m sure you are. I’m sure you’ve done awfully dangerous things.” “I have,” said Mr. Molloy, with simple pride. “There’s no one that’s done more for The Cause, or run greater risks. I could tell you things—but there, maybe I’d better not.” Jane clasped her hands round her knees. She leaned back against the wall and regarded Mr. Molloy with what he took to be admiration. “Now do tell me,” she said—“when you speak of The Cause, what do you mean?” In her heart of hearts Jane had a pretty firm conviction that, to Mr. Molloy, The Cause stood for whatever promoted the wealth, welfare, and advancement of himself, the said Molloy. “Ah,” said Mr. Molloy reverentially. He spread out his hands with a fine gesture. “That’s a big question.” “Well, what I mean,” said Jane, “is this. What do you really call yourself? You know, I always used to call you ‘The Anarchist Uncle,’ but the other day some one said that there were no Anarchists any more, so I wondered what you really were. Are you a Socialist, or a Communist, or a Bolshevist, or what?” A doubtful expression crossed Mr. Molloy’s handsome face. “Well, now,” he said, “it would depend on the company I was in.” Jane had a struggle with the dimple and subdued it. “You mean,” she ventured, “that if you were with Socialists, you would be a Socialist; and if you were with Bolshevists, you would be a Bolshevist?” “Well, it would be something like that,” admitted Mr. Molloy.