“And we others have built none. We almost deserve whatever comes to us.” The old woman’s face was darkly grave.
“In three villages where I chance to be lord of the manor I have, by means of my own, set lads drilling and training. It is supposed to be a form of amusement and an eccentric whim of mine and it is a change from eternal cricket. I have given prizes and made an occasional speech on the ground that English brawn is so enviable a possession that it ought to develop itself to the utmost. When I once went to the length of adding that each Englishman should be muscle fit and ready in case of England’s sudden need, I saw the lads grin cheerfully at the thought of England in any such un-English plight. Their innocent swaggering belief that the country is always ready for everything moved my heart of stone. And it is men like myself who are to blame—not merely men of my class, but men of my kind. Those who have chosen to detach themselves from everything but the living of life as it best pleased their tastes or served their personal ambitions.”
“Are we going to be taught that man cannot argue without including his fellow man? Are we going to be forced to learn it?” she said.
“Yes—forced. Nothing but force could reach us. The race is an undeveloped thing. A few centuries later it will have evolved another sense. This century may see the first huge step—because the power of a cataclysm sweeps it forward.”
He turned his glance towards the opening door. Robin came in with some letters in her hand. He was vaguely aware that she wore an aspect he was unfamiliar with. The girl of Mrs. Gareth-Lawless had in the past, as it went without saying, expressed the final note of priceless simplicity and mode. The more finely simple she looked, the more priceless. The unfamiliarity in her outward seeming lay in the fact that her quiet dun tweed dress with its lines of white at neck and wrists was not priceless though it was well made. It, in fact, unobtrusively suggested that it was meant for service rather than for adornment. Her hair was dressed closely and her movements were very quiet. Coombe realized that her greeting of him was delicately respectful.
“I have finished the letters,” she said to the Duchess. “I hope they are what you want. Sometimes I am afraid——”
“Don’t be afraid,” said the Duchess kindly. “You write very correct and graceful little letters. They are always what I want. Have you been out today?”
“Not yet.” Robin hesitated a little. “Have I your permission to ask Mrs. James if it will be convenient to her to let Dowie go with me for an hour?”
“Yes,” as kindly as before. “For two hours if you like. I shall not drive this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” said Robin and went out of the room as quietly as she had entered it.