In dearth of matter for conversation (Glazzard sitting taciturn), she spoke of an event which had occupied Polterham for the last day or two. Some local genius had conceived the idea of wrecking an express train, and to that end had broken a portion of the line.
"What frightful wickedness!" she exclaimed. "What motive can there have been, do you think?"
"Probably none, in the sense you mean."
"Yes—such a man must be mad."
"I don't think that," said Glazzard, meditatively. "I can understand his doing it with no reason at all but the wish to see what would happen. No doubt he would have been standing somewhere in sight."
"You can understand that?"
"Very well indeed," he answered, in the same half-absent way. "Power of all kinds is a temptation to men. A certain kind of man—not necessarily cruel—would be fascinated with the thought of bringing about such a terrific end by such slight means."
"Not necessarily cruel? Oh, I can't follow you at all. You are not serious."
"I have shocked you." He saw that he had really done so, and felt that it was imprudent. His tact suggested a use for the situation. "Serena, why should you speak so conventionally? You are not really conventional in mind. You have thoughts and emotions infinitely above those of average girls. Do recognize your own superiority. I spoke in a speculative way. One may speculate about anything and everything—if one has the brains. You certainly are not made to go through life with veiled eyes and a tongue tuned to the common phrases. Do yourself justice, dear girl. However other people regard you, I from the first have seen what it was in you to become."
It was adroit flattery; Serena reddened, averted her face, smiled a little, and kept silence.