Seeing her pale and silent, Clifford started the chair again, and no more was said till he halted again at the wood gate, which she opened.

“And what we need to take up now,” he said, “is whips, not swords. The masses have been ruled since time began, and till time ends, ruled they will have to be. It is sheer hypocrisy and farce to say they can rule themselves.”

“But can you rule them?” she asked.

“I? Oh yes! Neither my mind nor my will is crippled, and I don’t rule with my legs. I can do my share of ruling: absolutely, my share; and give me a son, and he will be able to rule his portion after me.”

“But he wouldn’t be your own son, of your own ruling class; or perhaps not,” she stammered.