“Surely, Mr. Grimshaw, there is something finer than that in what you call class loyalty?”
“All loyalty is fine,” he replied, “but there can be no monopoly of it. Do you think that the unprivileged classes do not feel it in a blind sort of way? Of course they do. And that loyalty is a driving power which the more unscrupulous of their mis-leaders are harnessing to their own ambitions. Class loyalty, wherever you find it, is undiluted Prussianism.”
She laughed a little.
“Is my mother a Prussian?” she asked mischievously.
“Your mother,” he replied less tensely, with a glance at that lady as she bent over her embroidery, “is—is——”
“Covered with soft moss?” she suggested.
“We are all covered with moss, Miss Chandos. And, I suppose, the moss must be raked off before we can see with clear vision.”
“You are raking some of it off me. I told you I wanted to work with you. I do—more than ever, but you mustn’t rake at Mother. Perhaps you noticed that Lord Wilverley tried raking at dinner.” He nodded. “Oh, you did. Of course, she has to stand it from him.”
“Lord Wilverley, I noticed, made an impression on you.”
His eyes met hers. She noticed a twinkle in them. All tension had gone from his pleasant voice.