“I didn’t like the contemptuous curl of her lip, and returned with some pique:
“‘I know what he was saying. Extravagant balderdash! I ought to know something about politics. I take an interest in them—an intelligent interest. I write about them. There’s my weekly letter to the Midland daily, isn’t there? I vote Radical, I’m a Progressive. I’m for the amelioration of—all sorts of things.’
“I wound up vaguely. You can’t talk sane, serious politics to your wife; the true political woman has yet to be born.
“‘When we retire to the country in our ripe middle age,’ I went on, ‘I shall take an active interest in local affairs. I shall become a member of the parish council; shall look after rights of way and be down on barbed wire. I’ve my own ideas on the game laws—we shall never have enough money to preserve—and lots of things. I won’t dilate on them. You wouldn’t understand.’
“It was getting dusk. In the distance the crowd—all the little crowds—were melting away. A soldier sat with a girl on a seat. His red coat was warm against the shadows.
“‘There!’ broke out Lucinda passionately, before we were out of hearing. ‘Did you see those two on the seat?’
“‘I did. I thought, so far as I could judge, you know, that they looked uncommonly happy.’
“‘Happy! a soldier! a servant girl! What have they done? Surely you, as a practical politician, can tell me. Why should they be born to such a life? I ask you. No gleam of brightness to lighten the impenetrable gloo——’
“‘Come now. You are quoting the maniac in the red tie.’
“We got out of the Park and went along Oxford Street in silence until we were near the Circus. Then Lucinda burst out suddenly: