“I suppose it is my bringing-up. It sounds very feeble. I often feel that if I once began—really began—to think for myself I wouldn't stick at anything.”
“That is British, too,” said Sara, laughing. “You are a true Jane Bull! But as you are going to marry a public man, that is as well. Your life will have many absorbing interests.”
“Oh yes,” returned Agnes; “I hope to help Beauclerk in his constituency, and with the members of his Association.”
“So far as I can make out they are a weak, selfish lot, but these qualities do not affect the question of his duties toward them.”
“You express, better than I could, my own feeling. I fear they don't always appreciate his motives.”
“Beauclerk,” said Sara slowly, “is impulsive. He is never afraid of changing his mind. Many people are called firm merely because they haven't the moral courage to own their second thoughts.”
Agnes drew a long sigh, slackened her pace, and stood looking at the strange, autumnal lights in the sky, the martins flying over the paddocks toward the wood, and the crescent moon which already shone out above them.
“I suppose it does mean lack of courage, half the time,” she said at last; “and yet how disastrous it is to wonder about the wisdom of any decision once arrived at, of any step once taken! I daresay every one shrinks a little at first from the responsibility of undertaking another person's happiness.”
“Not every one,” replied Sara; “the generous ones only.”
“You have known Beauclerk ever since he was a boy, haven't you?” asked Agnes.