Dunsford. I must say, I think, Milverton, you do not give enough
credit for sympathy, good-nature, and humility as material elements
in the conformity of the world.

Ellesmere. I am not afraid, my dear Dunsford, of the essay doing
much harm. There is a power of sleepy conformity in the world. You
may just startle your conformists for a minute, but they gravitate
into their old way very soon. You talk of their humility, Dunsford,
but I have heard people who have conformed to opinions, without a
pretence of investigation, as arrogant and intolerant towards
anybody who differed from them, as if they stood upon a pinnacle of
independent sagacity and research.

Dunsford. One never knows, Ellesmere, on which side you are. I
thought you were on mine a minute or two ago; and now you come down
upon me with more than Milverton's anti-conforming spirit.

Ellesmere. The greatest mischief, as I take it, of this slavish
conformity, is in the reticence it creates. People will be, what
are called, intimate friends, and yet no real interchange of opinion
takes place between them. A man keeps his doubts, his difficulties,
and his peculiar opinions to himself. He is afraid of letting
anybody know that he does not exactly agree with the world's
theories on all points. There is no telling the hindrance that this
is to truth.

Milverton. A great cause of this, Ellesmere, is in the little
reliance you can have on any man's secrecy. A man finds that what,
in the heat of discussion, and in the perfect carelessness of
friendship, he has said to his friend, is quoted to people whom he