"I suppose it's what the throne ought to do," said Rachel. "If it can't be inspiration, at any rate it can tolerate and reconcile and take the ill-bred bitterness out of politics."
"My father might have said that."
"I got that from your father," she said; and added after a momentary pause, "I go over and talk to him."
"You talk to my father!"
"I like to. Or rather I listen and take it in. I go over in the afternoon. I go sometimes twice or three times a week."
"That's kind of you."
"Not at all. You see—— It sounds impudent, I know, for a girl to say so, but we've so many interests in common."
§ 2
I was more and more interested by Rachel as the days went on. A man must be stupid who does not know that a woman is happy in his presence, and for two years now and more I had met no one with a very strong personal feeling for me. And quite apart from that, her mind was extraordinarily interesting to me because it was at once so active and so clear and so limited by her entirely English circumstances. She had the prosperous English outlook. She didn't so much see the wide world as get glimpses of it through the tangle of Westminster and of West End and week-end limitations. She wasn't even aware of that greater unprosperous England, already sulking and darkling outside her political world, that greater England which was presently to make its first audible intimations of discontent in that remarkable anti-climax to King George's Coronation, the Railway Strike. India for her was the land of people's cousins, Germany and the German Dreadnoughts bulked far larger, and all the tremendous gathering forces of the East were beyond the range of her imagination. I set myself to widen her horizons.
I told her something of the intention and range of my travels, and something of the views that were growing out of their experiences.