CHAPTER XIII.
After dinner there was a brisk passage of arms between the two men of opposite party in the group by the fire, and Mrs.Cricklander incited them to further exertions.

It had arisen because Mr.Derringham had launched forth the abominable and preposterous theory that the only thing the Radicals would bring England to would be the necessity of returning to barbarism and importing slaves--then their schemes applied to the present inhabitants of the country might all work.

The denizens in the casual wards, having a vote and a competence provided by the State, would have time to become of the leisured classes and apply themselves to culture, and so every free citizen being equal, a company of philosophers and an aristocracy of intellect would arise and all would be well! Mrs.Cricklander glanced stealthily at his whimsical face, to be sure whether he were joking or no--and decided he probably was.

But Mr.
Hanbury-Green, so irritated by the delightful hostess's evident _penchant_ for his rival, allowed his ill-humor to obscure his usually keen judgment, and took the matter up in serious earnest.
"Your side would not import, but reduce us all--we who are the defenders of the people--to being slaves," he said with some asperity.

"Your class has had its innings long enough, it would be the best thing in the world for you to have to come down to doing your own housework." "I should make a capital cook," said John Derringham, with smiling eyes, "but I should certainly refuse to cook for anyone but myself; and you, Mr.Green, who may be an indifferent artist in that respect, would have perhaps a bad dinner." "I never understand," interrupted Mrs.Cricklander--"when everything is socialistic, shall we not be able to live in these nice houses ?" "Of course not," said Mr.Hanbury-Green gravely.