Her eyelids quivered—the merest flicker of a smile passed across her face.
“But how nice not to be obliged to have personal opinions! Think what a delightfully restful state.”
“It would not suit me,” he declared bluntly.
She laughed, very softly and very musically.
There was a short silence. A breath of the west wind bent the lilac boughs toward them, a wave of delicate perfume floated in the air. Strone half closed his eyes. Their thoughts went backward together.
“Tell me,” she murmured, “how does this life compare to you with the old days at Bangdon Wood? You were a man of contemplation—you have become a man of action. Go on, my friend. There is a kingdom before you.”
He turned a weary face upon her.
“These are the things,” he said, “which I have told myself. But, Lady Malingcourt, life has another side, and to go through life without once glancing upon it——”
“Ah, is it worth while?” she interrupted. “What is greater than power?”
“It is a joy for heroes, but even heroes are sometimes men.”