“No, it's bound to happen.” Benham retreated a little from the immediate question. “Well, we can't suddenly at a blow change the world. If it isn't to be plutocracy to-day it has to be aristocracy.” Prothero frowned over this, and then he made a sweeping proposition. “YOU CANNOT HAVE ARISTOCRACY,” he said, “BECAUSE, YOU SEE--ALL MEN ARE RIDICULOUS. Democracy has to fight its way out from under plutocracy. There is nothing else to be done.” “But a man in my position--?” “It's a ridiculous position. You may try to escape being ridiculous. You won't succeed.” It seemed to Benham for a moment as though Prothero had got to the bottom of the question, and then he perceived that he had only got to the bottom of himself. Benham was pacing the floor. He turned at the open window, held out a long forefinger, and uttered his countervailing faith. “Even if he is ridiculous, Prothero, a man may still be an aristocrat. A man may anyhow be as much of an aristocrat as he can be.” Prothero reflected. “No,” he said, “it sounds all right, but it's wrong. I hate all these advantages and differences and distinctions. A man's a man. What you say sounds well, but it's the beginning of pretension, of pride--” He stopped short. “Better, pride than dishonour,” said Benham, “better the pretentious life than the sordid life. What else is there?” “A life isn't necessarily sordid because it isn't pretentious,” said Prothero, his voice betraying a defensive disposition. “But a life with a large income MUST be sordid unless it makes some sort of attempt to be fine....” 9