Wilkins answered with the air of one who carefully disentangles a complex but quite solvable problem. “It doesn’t follow,” he said, “that because a man is a bad character he’s not to be trusted in matters where character—as we commonly use the word—doesn’t come in. These sensitives, these—would you mind if I were to call myself an Æolian Harp?—these Æolian Harps; they can’t help responding to the winds of heaven. Well,—listen to them. Don’t follow them, don’t worship them, don’t even honour them, but listen to them. Don’t let anyone stop them from saying and painting and writing and singing what they want to. Freedom, canvas and attention, those are the proper honours for the artist, the poet and the philosopher. Listen to the noise they make, watch the stuff they produce, and presently you will find certain things among the multitude of things that are said and shown and put out and published, something—light in _your_ darkness—a writer for you, something for you. Nobody can have a greater contempt for artists and writers and poets and philosophers than I, oh! a squalid crew they are, mean, jealous, pugnacious, disgraceful in love, _disgraceful_—but out of it all comes the greatest serenest thing, the mind of the world, Literature. Nasty little midges, yes,—but fireflies—carrying light for the darkness.” His face was suddenly lit by enthusiasm and she wondered that she could have thought it rather heavy and commonplace. He stopped abruptly and glanced beyond her at her other neighbour who seemed on the verge of turning to them again. “If I go on,” he said with a voice suddenly dropped, “I shall talk loud.” “You know,” said Lady Harman, in a halty undertone, “you—you are too hard upon—upon clever people, but it is true. I mean it is true in a way....” “Go on, I understand exactly what you are saying.” “I mean, there _are_ ideas. It’s just that, that is so—so——I mean they seem never to be just there and always to be present.” “Like God. Never in the flesh—now. A spirit everywhere. You think exactly as I do, Lady Harman. It is just that. This is a great time, so great that there is no chance for great men. Every chance for great work. And we’re doing it. There is a wind—blowing out of heaven. And when beautiful people like yourself come into things——” “I try to understand,” she said. “I want to understand. I want—I want not to miss life.” He was on the verge of saying something further and then his eyes wandered down the table and he stopped short. He ended his talk as he had begun it with “Bother! Lady Tarvrille, Lady Harman, is trying to catch your eye.” Lady Harman turned her face to her hostess and answered her smile. Wilkins caught at his chair and stood up. “It would have been jolly to have talked some more,” he said. “I hope we shall.” “Well!” said Wilkins, with a sudden hardness in his eyes and she was swept away from him.