“Ah! ma’am!” continued Temple, “I have heard terrible things said in the refined homes of the gentry; and in my presence, ladies have uttered ’orrible sentences. For instance about the war. I don’t myself understand politics, and I can’t tell if our Government was right or wrong; but there are the women, the children, the ruined home, and to my mind it did not seem quite right. I heard many ladies who came to have tea with your lordship dismiss the whole question with a wave of the hand: ‘It could not be helped; war would always be necessary.’ One lady actually said that she loved war—surely that lady had never seen a battlefield. Another one remarked that ‘People who were not in favour of the war were not patriotic, and ought to be sent out of the country.’ You all drank your whisky and champagne in honour of England’s greater glory and prosperity; and we thought it a queer world in which glory had to be paid for so dearly, and prosperity acquired at the cost of precious lives.”
“Ah! but, you see, Temple, you were not a Colonial Secretary, nor were you a financier,” said Ronald Sinclair.
“Anyhow, I never heard a lady express herself as a true woman about any kind of misfortune. As a footman I used to serve cups of tea at entertainments organised for charitable purposes, and heard there some rum remarks. One lady said in reply to another who was relating to her some pitiful story of misery, ‘Well, you see, dear Lady So-and-So, these people are more or less accustomed to privations.’ And I heard another lady say that misery was relative: a millionaire reduced to a paltry income of £3000 a year suffered more actual privations than a poor man who could not afford meat once a week. I thought of old Bill Tooley’s widow who was found dead from starvation last winter. There was no question of relative misery in her case, for one can’t do more than die. Can one, my lord?”
“We have lived long enough under the delusion of our superiority over you. We must once for all face the truth and have the courage to say that it was only owing to the unfairness in the game of life that we won the trumpery race. We were given points at our birth, and later, as we entered Sandhurst or the Universities, points were granted us to enable us to advance quicker towards the winning-post. But these advantages which gave us our social distinctions, were as many rungs cut off from the ladder, rendering the ascent laborious to others, and the top unreachable. Life is the arena in which all men have to run the race—in their skins.”
“This is beyond me, my lord,” humbly said the valet. “Only educated people, such as you, can discuss these topics. I ’ave spoken what I felt; if I have made you understand a little more about what we were, so much the better; but I am an ignorant man, and you must excuse my speech.”
“My good man, ignorance is easily remedied; besides, we have a great deal to learn, perhaps more than you have, for we set ourselves up as your teachers, although we knew little either of you or of ourselves. But how is it that you should think that education causes a man’s superiority, when you used to believe that wealth constituted supremacy?”
“Well, my lord, it was the only difference we could see between the upper classes and the lower ones. But I seem now to judge things from another point of view; it must be owing to our having no livery, and to your lordship’s appearing to me as God made you. We do not envy beauty, for we know that it is not made in factories at the expense of children’s health and youth.”
“The vanishing of clothes has done more for human equality than all the philanthropists’ efforts, or the anarchists’ steel blade,” remarked Sinclair.
“Now, Temple,” said Lord Somerville, “you must go with Wiggles, and taste some of your native air. I no more need your services, and you can tell the other servants that they can return to their houses. Our daily life is very much simplified.”
“Yes, my lord—I know fresh air is necessary to our lungs, but I have an idea which I should like to communicate to the Committee of Reforms.”