He was a poet, whose ready flow of language, with its glowing flights of hyperbole, had once reacted unfavourably upon a too literal-minded policeman, with a consequent very actual fortnight in jail. It had been a distinctly unpleasant experience, but one which he would not have escaped for worlds. Its immediate effect was a volume of lurid verse, which had a very wide sale. And ever afterward he was able to denounce things as they were, with the assurance of one who knew whereof he spoke. He was young in years, but--he had lived--he had suffered.... "Charity--pah!" he declared with finality. "It is futile, childish, debasing--both to them that give and them that receive. It is abomination--the more organised, the worse it becomes. It is like all--reform." The fine scorn with which he spoke would have made the word shrivel up and disappear, had it been a material organism. "And for reform you would substitute--revolution?" Judith was conscious of Mrs. Dodson's firm, level voice, contrasting rather unexpectedly with the uncertain falsetto of Mr. Klemm. "Revolution--yes!" The accompanying gesture was splendidly dramatic. "A man's word," he added, sternly, but unfortunately in a tone which was somewhat feminine. "So far as I know," said Mrs. Dodson, quietly, without any dramatic effect, but in a way which carried conviction, "the real progress of the world has been by evolution. Revolution has usually been followed by reaction, the net advantage being no greater than is secured day after day, year after year, by the despised reformers. Most of the revolutionists I know--talk. The world needs--work!" It was a stinging rebuke. Mr. Klemm, not easily silenced, had no more to say. He seemed relieved when dinner was announced. Judith, herself, felt vaguely shamed. The past year, begun with such hopes, such fine purpose--what had it all amounted to--but talk? What had she _done_? What was she but Good's cheque-book? What would she do were he removed? What was she--herself--alone--?