What you call their sense of duty, Stanley, is really their sense of self-preservation coupled with their sense of superiority." "H'm!" said Stanley; "I don't know that I quite follow you." "I always hate an odor of sanctity.

I'd prefer them to say frankly: 'This is my property, and you'll jolly well do what I tell you, on it.'" "But, my dear chap, after all, they really ARE superior." "That," said Felix, "I emphatically question.

Put your Mallorings to earn their living on fifteen to eighteen shillings a week, and where would they be?
The Mallorings have certain virtues, no doubt, natural to their fortunate environment, but of the primitive virtues of patience, hardihood, perpetual, almost unconscious self-sacrifice, and cheerfulness in the face of a hard fate, they are no more the equals of the people they pretend to be superior to than I am your equal as a man of business." "Hang it!" was Stanley's answer, "what a d--d old heretic you are!" Felix frowned.

"Am I?
Be honest! Take the life of a Malloring and take it at its best; see how it stands comparison in the ordinary virtues with those of an averagely good specimen of a farm-laborer.

Your Malloring is called with a cup of tea, at, say, seven o'clock, out of a nice, clean, warm bed; he gets into a bath that has been got ready for him; into clothes and boots that have been brushed for him; and goes down to a room where there's a fire burning already if it's a cold day, writes a few letters, perhaps, before eating a breakfast of exactly what he likes, nicely prepared for him, and reading the newspaper that best comforts his soul; when he has eaten and read, he lights his cigar or his pipe and attends to his digestion in the most sanitary and comfortable fashion; then in his study he sits down to steady direction of other people, either by interview or by writing letters, or what not.