or large, whether they belong to the respectable middle classes whom the
after-the-war legislation did its best to break, or to the class of
actual manual laborers."

"I don't see what place a man like Miller has in your scheme of things,"
he observed, a little restlessly.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Miller is a limpet," she said. "He has posed as a man of brains for
half a generation. His only real cleverness is an unerring but selfish
capacity for attaching himself to the right cause. We can't ignore him.
He has a following. On the other hand, he does not represent our
principles any more than Pitt would if he were still alive."

"What will be your position really as regards the two main sections of
the Labour Party?" he asked. "We are absorbing the best of them, day by
day," she answered quickly. "What is left of either will be merely the
scum. The people will come to us. Their discarded leaders can crawl
back to obscurity. The people may follow false gods for a very long
time, but they have the knack of recognising the truth when it is shown
them."

"You have the gift of conviction," he said thoughtfully.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Our cause speaks, not I," she declared. "Every word I utter is a waste
of breath, a task of supererogation. You can't associate with Stephen
Dartrey for a month without realising for yourself what our party means