“Ah, wait till you are the dragon! I have been a dragon most of my life, I think. A dragon that wants nothing but a peaceful cave. Then in comes the strong, wonderful, delightful being, and gains a princess by piercing my hide. No, seriously, my dear Agnes, the chief characteristics of a hero are infinite disregard for the feelings of others, plus general inability to understand them.”
“But surely Mr. Wonham—”
“Yes; aren’t we being unkind to the poor boy. Ought we to go on talking?”
Agnes waited, remembering the warnings of Rickie, and thinking that anything she said might perhaps be repeated.
“Though even if he was here he wouldn’t understand what we are saying.”
“Wouldn’t understand?”
Mrs. Failing gave the least flicker of an eye towards her companion. “Did you take him for clever?”
“I don’t think I took him for anything.” She smiled. “I have been thinking of other things, and another boy.”
“But do think for a moment of Stephen. I will describe how he spent yesterday. He rose at eight. From eight to eleven he sang. The song was called, ‘Father’s boots will soon fit Willie.’ He stopped once to say to the footman, ‘She’ll never finish her book. She idles: ‘She’ being I. At eleven he went out, and stood in the rain till four, but had the luck to see a child run over at the level-crossing. By half-past four he had knocked the bottom out of Christianity.”
Agnes looked bewildered.