Chapter Three.
Harry departed, and Claudia expressed her compassion to Philippa. Philippa grew hot in his defence.
“Of course you like him,” said the girl. “I think he is a capital fellow, and that’s the pity of it. Yes, yes, I know. He and you are convinced that he will do very well by-and-by to reign at Thornbury, where they will touch their hats and curtsy to him, and he will send down soup when they are ill. That’s his line exactly, and it may exist in England a few years longer, but it’s on its last legs.”
“Aren’t you getting rather mixed?” asked Philippa. “The soup, or the line, or what?”
Claudia laughed.
“You know what I mean. The old order. It had its good points, I’m quite ready to admit, but it is over, it must be put away, and a new situation faced. The People, with a capital letter.”
“Aren’t we the People, with a capital letter?” murmured Miss Cartwright.
“Yes, if you join the movement. Otherwise you’re only—I beg your pardon, Philippa, but I know you would hate humbug—only a fly on the wheel. You’d be swept along anyway, but you wouldn’t help.”
“I’m not sure I shouldn’t have the best of it, though, except for the dust,” Philippa said meditatively. “And poor Harry! I think you are ungrateful to him when he is boldly facing the new situation on your behalf. Think of his mother’s face!”