“I say in general. There is not much to choose between the two types; but there is in my opinion a shade in favor of the conservative on the score of efficiency, and I am old-fashioned perhaps, but I like efficiency. If it came to a fight, I should fight on the conservative side. But this is all beside the point. My objections to your brother, Mr. Moreton, are not objections to his group or class. They are personal to him. Damned personal.” “You don’t like David?” “Why, he’s an attractive young fellow, but, if you’ll forgive my saying so, Mr. Moreton, I don’t think he’s any good. He’s weak, he’s idle, he entirely lacks that aggressive will that—whether we have your revolution or not—is the only bulwark a woman has in this world. Why, Mr. Moreton, you are evidently a very much more advanced and dangerous radical than your brother, but I should not have half the objection to you that I have to him. There is only one thing that makes a difference in this world—character. Your brother hasn’t got it.” For an instant the perfect accuracy of Cord’s statements about David left Ben silent. Then he pulled himself together and said, with a firmness he did not wholly feel: “You hardly do David justice. He may not have great force, but he has talent, great sweetness, no vices—” “Oh, quite, quite, quite, quite,” said Cord, with a gesture of his long hand that should somehow have recalled to Ben the motion of a hand he had recently kissed. “However,” said Ben, “there is no use in arguing about our differences. The point is we are agreed that this marriage ought not to be. Let us co-operate on that. Where could I find David? I believe if I could see him I’d have some effect on him.” “You mean you could talk him out of marrying the girl he loves?” “I might make him see the folly of it.” “Well, I haven’t said anything as bad about your brother as that, Mr. Moreton. But you do him injustice. You couldn’t talk him out of it, and if you could, she’d talk him right back into it again. But there is one thing to consider. I understand you make him an allowance. How about stopping that?” “I wouldn’t consider that for a moment,” said Ben, with more temper than he had so far shown. “I don’t make him that allowance so that I can force him to do what I think best. I give it to him because he needs it. I don’t believe in force, Mr. Cord.” “Oh yes, you do, Mr. Moreton.” “What do you mean?” “You were proposing to use a much more pernicious kind of force when you proposed talking the boy out of his first love. However, to be candid with you, I must tell you that the issue is dead. They ran off yesterday and were married in Boston.” There was a short silence and then Ben moved toward the door. “Won’t you stay to lunch?” said Mr. Cord, politely.