You weren't built that way.' 'No,' assented Mrs Gildea doubtfully.
'But,' went on Biddy brightly, 'I think sometimes that if one could get to the pitch of feeling nothing matters, it would be a way of reaching the "letting go" stage which one MUST arrive at before one can even BEGIN to live in the Eternal.' There seemed something a little comic in the notion of Bridget O'Hara living in the Eternal, and yet Mrs Gildea realised that there really was a certain stable quality underneath the flashing, ever changing temperamental sheath, which might perhaps form a base for the Verities to rest upon.
'Beelzebub didn't teach you that,' she said.
'No, quite the contrary.

It all came out of my concentration studies and the Higher Thought Centre where I met some most original dears--Christian Scientists and Spiritualists--and then these Socialists--not a bit on the lines of the old Fabians and Bernard Shavians and the rest who used to believe only in Matter--specially landed property matter--and in parcelling that out among themselves.

My friends are for parcelling out what they call the Divine Intelligence, which they say will bring them everything they need for the good of others and, incidentally, themselves.

Of course none of them have a penny.

But they do contrive to get what they want for other people--it was a soup kitchen this winter where they fed 11,000 starving poor.
Only, when they begin, they never have the smallest idea of HOW it's going to be done.' Lady Bridget was so absorbed in her subject matter that she did not notice the entrance of the men; but Mrs Gildea saw that Colin McKeith was making straight towards them.