Robert laughed and admitted that he did not expect a long tenure of office. The Guild plan was a European idea for which America was by no means ripe.
"I fancy we are as progressive in industrial matters as the Europeans are," said Cornelia, on her mettle.
"Oh, more so," replied Robert, drily. "Our giant industries lead the world in maximizing the production of things of a mediocre quality and the creation of human life of a contemptible quality. Yes, in crude capacity, we are ahead of our European competitors. But in political capacity, we still lag far behind. Hence the difficulty of transplanting to our soil a high-class social policy like that of the Guildsmen."
"But when this Guild plan dies a natural death, what forlorn hope will you champion next?"
"I fear there'll be nothing left but to throw myself on the mercy of a rich uncle."
"What, an uncle in a fairy tale?"
"No, an uncle in California, a real live one."
Cornelia evinced little more than a languid interest in Robert's information. Fabulously rich relatives—who were cast for the parts of Deus ex machina, but who never materialized in flesh or cash—made a golden splash in the 'scutcheon of too many veteran Lorillard inhabitants. She preferred a conversation dealing with more tangible personages. Truth to tell, she rather hoped that Robert would try to undo the painful impression he had made on her by his recent criticism of her affair with Percival Houghton.
All the greater was her chagrin when he brought the talk around to the subject of Janet.
IV