“Dear me, dear me!” he remarked. “Daniel is not only his cousin, but his heir presumptive.” He stroked his chin, and carried the bulky volume nearer to the light. “Hm! Well, well—to be sure!” he muttered.
He laid the book down, and clasping his hands behind his back, walked to and fro across the room, while Muriel turned to glance at the family record.
As she looked up once more, her father paused, his head on one side, his fingers stroking his jaw. “Now, if that lout were to die ...” he mused.
“D’you mean Mr. Lane?” asked Muriel innocently.
“No, no! Tut, tut!” exclaimed her father, pinching the lobe of her ear, and then, as though afraid of giving offence, patting her cheek instead. “Daniel Lane is not a lout! I was referring to his cousin. If Daniel were to inherit—”
“If he were to inherit,” Muriel put in, as he paused, “there’d be a panic in the House of Lords—peers hiding under benches, Lord Chancellor flung into gallery, Archbishop popped into waste-paper basket—”
Lord Blair raised his delicate hand in protest: his thoughts were more serious. “You know,” he said, “that man is wasting himself in the desert. I wish I could persuade him to accept some official position in Cairo. I should like to push him into prominence—oblige him, force him, to take an active part in the government of this country.”
An expression almost of sadness came into his face. “I sometimes feel,” he went on, “that we diplomatists, products of the Foreign Office, are totally unfitted to rule a mediæval country such as this. Look at me, Muriel; am I the romantic figure to impress the native mind? Egypt does not want diplomacy; she wants physical strength combined with philosophy—she wants a man who is a mighty hunter before the Lord, a giant, a hero out of a legend.”
“Oh, father dear,” Muriel replied, “everybody says you are the ideal ruler.” She felt sorry for him: he seemed such an insignificant little figure, so fussy, so well-meaning, and just now so modest.
“No,” he continued, “I don’t understand the native mind; I must confess, I don’t understand it. And I sometimes think that I am not serving the best interests of England. I want my country to be respected, Muriel; I have such vast ambition for England. I want our manhood to be seen to the best advantage, so that the natives may say: ‘Since we are to be ruled, let us be glad that we are ruled by men.’”