The conversation drifted from topic to topic. It had none of the steady continuity of Sir Richmond’s duologue with Miss Grammont. Miss Seyffert’s methods were too discursive and exclamatory. She broke every thread that appeared. The Old George at Salisbury is really old; it shows it, and Miss Seyffert laced the entire evening with her recognition of the fact. “Just look at that old beam!” she would cry suddenly. “To think it was exactly where it is before there was a Cabot in America!” Miss Grammont let her companion pull the talk about as she chose. After the animation of the afternoon a sort of lazy contentment had taken possession of the younger lady. She sat deep in a basket chair and spoke now and then. Miss Seyffert gave her impressions of France and Italy. She talked of the cabmen of Naples and the beggars of Amalfi. Apropos of beggars, Miss Grammont from the depths of her chair threw out the statement that Italy was frightfully overpopulated. “In some parts of Italy it is like mites on a cheese. Nobody seems to be living. Everyone is too busy keeping alive.” “Poor old women carrying loads big enough for mules,” said Miss Seyffert. “Little children working like slaves,” said Miss Grammont. “And everybody begging. Even the people at work by the roadside. Who ought to be getting wages--sufficient....” “Begging--from foreigners--is just a sport in Italy,” said Sir Richmond. “It doesn’t imply want. But I agree that a large part of Italy is frightfully overpopulated. The whole world is. Don’t you think so, Martineau?” “Well--yes--for its present social organization.” “For any social organization,” said Sir Richmond. “I’ve no doubt of it,” said Miss Seyffert, and added amazingly: “I’m out for Birth Control all the time.” A brief but active pause ensued. Dr. Martineau in a state of sudden distress attempted to drink out of a cold and empty coffee cup. “The world swarms with cramped and undeveloped lives,” said Sir Richmond. “Which amount to nothing. Which do not even represent happiness. And which help to use up the resources, the fuel and surplus energy of the world.” “I suppose they have a sort of liking for their lives,” Miss Grammont reflected. “Does that matter? They do nothing to carry life on. They are just vain repetitions--imperfect dreary, blurred repetitions of one common life. All that they feel has been felt, all that they do has been done better before. Because they are crowded and hurried and underfed and undereducated. And as for liking their lives, they need never have had the chance.” “How many people are there in the world?” she asked abruptly. “I don’t know. Twelve hundred, fifteen hundred millions perhaps.” “And in your world?” “I’d have two hundred and fifty millions, let us say. At most. It would be quite enough for this little planet, for a time, at any rate. Don’t you think so, doctor?”