“I had imagined,” he said, stammering with emphasis, “that this movement was to restore a true respect for Nobility. I am not aware that any of these workshop regulations applied to Nobility.”
“Ah,” said Herne in a low voice like an aside; “it has come at last.”
It seemed as if he spoke for the first time in a human voice, and the effect was all the stranger because of the strange words in which he spoke again. “I am not a man,” he said. “I am here only a mouthpiece to make clear the law; the law that knows nothing of men or women. But I ask you this before it is too late. Do not appeal to rank and title; do not make your claim as nobles and peers.”
“Why not?” cried the boisterous Archer.
“Because about that also,” replied Herne, who was deadly pale, “you have been fools enough to bid me find out the truth.”
“Oh what the devil does all this mean,” cried Archer in his agony.
“Damned if I know,” replied the stolid Mr. Hanbury.
“Ah yes, I had forgotten,” said the Arbiter in a vibrating voice, “you are not common craftsmen; you have not learnt to make paints; you have not dipped your hands in dyes. You have passed through loftier ordeals; you have watched your armour; you have won your spurs. But your crests and titles come to you from remote antiquity; and you have not forgotten the names you bear.”
“Naturally we haven’t forgotten our own names,” said Eden testily.
“Strangely enough,” said the Arbiter, “that is exactly what you have done.”