“Do you expect Cecil to amuse you?”
“Cecil has stayed home with me three whole days, and we’ve roamed all over the place, and had the jolliest times imaginable. He has a lot of fun in him when he has nothing on his mind.”
“I never attempt to discuss men during those periods when they are engaged in proving the rule. Cecil is in love. Long may he remain so”—he waved his uninjured hand gallantly—“but unless I am much mistaken, the longer you know him the less amusing you will find him. It is the prerogative of greatness to be dull. England is the greatest nation on earth, and is as dull as befits its dignity—mind you, I don’t say stupid, which is a wholly different quantity. Conversely, many of the most brilliant men living are Englishmen, but they are not great in the national sense. Read The Times, and you will see what I mean.”
“Do you think Cecil has it in him to be great?” asked Lee eagerly.
“Sometimes I’ve thought so. He has as good a brain for its age as there is in England, and I believe he’s ambitious. Do you think he is?”
“I can’t make out. I don’t think he knows, himself.”
“He’ll find out as soon as he’s in the running. Just now I fancy he imagines himself oppressed with the weight of family traditions, which I have neglected. But there are no half measures about him, and if he develops ambition he’ll make straight for the big prizes. It will be all or nothing.”
“I hope he’s ambitious.”
“Ah! Ambition is an exacting mistress—a formidable rival!”
“I’d not be afraid of that; I don’t know that I can explain.”