Grimshaw said quietly, but not without sympathy:
“You’re a good fellow, John Exton, but, believe me, you only see one side of this.”
“I see pretty plain that you’re not on that side, sir.”
“I’m not on the side of ranting. Ranting has wrecked many causes. It antagonises sane men and women. To charge Lady Selina with murder is—as I said yesterday—preposterous and ridiculous. I want to down not an individual but a system.”
“Her ladyship is part of the system, and the biggest part in Upworthy. That’s enough for me.”
He strode off without saluting. Grimshaw glanced at his watch. Cicely was not due yet. He sat down in John’s place, thinking hard, dismally conscious that he must appear a sorry figure in the eyes of Sergeant Exton, conscious also that he had won the very thing he wanted, Lady Selina’s approval, under false pretences. It was horrible to think that Exton regarded him as a hypocrite with malevolent eyes. And what did the man mean by his threats of “downing” Lady Selina? Then he laughed a little, because it was almost impossible to think of Lady Selina “downed.” Such imperturbable personalities were not downed by others. If the whole village rose in arms against her, if she were stoned on the village green, she would stand superbly erect till the end.
A light laugh roused these reflections. Cicely stood in front of him, smiling gaily. The pressure of her little hand was reassuring.
“Did you get mother’s invitation to dine with us to-night?”
“The august Stimson delivered it in person.”
“Who was wise?”