“I may smoke?” he queried, half coaxingly.
She nodded,—and yet she could not help wondering why he wanted to smoke just as they reached the lovely trellis work of roses that clambered and twined, and hung down their graceful heads laden with delicious perfume. The moment the fumes of tobacco were puffed into the air, all the sweetness of the exquisite blossoms would be spoilt; but she made no protest, and stood silently watching him at his old trick of prodding the “Navy-cut” into the bowl of his briar with the usual yellow finger. And she did not conceal from herself that it was an ugly performance. In due time and after some fidgeting, the pipe was lit, and the natural sweet incense of the roses was smothered by the smoke which the Philosopher emitted like a human chimney. He had the habit of opening his mouth in a studied round O, in order to make “rings” of smoke in the air as he puffed away,—it was not a habit that became him, but he was fortunately not aware of the satyr-like aspect he presented while engaged in what he considered artistry in smoking.
“Now,” he said, comfortably, after having successfully accomplished several “rings,”—“let’s talk! What does your father say of this morning’s news?”
“Dad! Oh, he isn’t at all surprised. He says it is what we all ought to have seen coming years ago, and that the country should have been prepared.”
“Oh, most sagacious Dad! Why isn’t he Prime Minister! Of course we knew!—of course every body knew!” And the Philosopher gave a short, grunting laugh. “Especially a good old gentleman living in the country and passing his time between dictionaries and cucumber-frames! If he didn’t know, who should? ‘Who dies if England lives!’ By the way what a piece of utter nonsense that is! The world would get on very well without England!”
“Oh, how can you say so! And you an Englishman!”
“Dear child, my nationality is a mere accident of birth. I might just as well have been a kangaroo! Chance gave me English parents—and I’m not ungrateful to chance. But simply because I’m an Englishman, born in England, I’m not such a fool as to suppose my country the only respectable one in the world.”
“It’s the greatest, the noblest, the most glorious!” she said, her breast heaving and her eyes flashing. “I would die for it to-morrow if I were a man!”
He smiled.