“So does he.”
“With your permission.”
“The wind has permission too,” said Harriet. “Everything goes by permission of something else, in this world.” But she went rather red.
“Bravo, a Daniel come to judgment!” Then his voice changed, became gentle and winning again. It was as if he had remembered to love her, in his way of love. “It’s not quite a political thing,” he said. “We want to take away the strain, the nervous tension out of life, and let folks be happy again unconsciously, instead of unhappy consciously. You wouldn’t say that was wrong, would you?”
“No,” she replied, rather unwilling.
“And if I have to be a fat old Kangaroo with—not an Abraham’s bosom, but a pouch to carry young Australia in—why—do you really resent it?”
Harriet laughed, glancing involuntarily at his lowest waistcoat button. It seemed such a true figure.
“Why should I resent it? It’s not my business.”
“Let it be your business just a little bit. I want your sympathy.”
“You mean you want Lovat?”