“All the great reformers of the world have been enthusiasts,” cried Claudia impetuously. “The dry-as-dust, cold-blooded men and women have never achieved anything. I say, thank God for the enthusiasts of the world, who are not dismayed by columns of statistics!”
Her eyes and Colin’s met, and his thanked her silently, but a little shake of the head told her not to trouble to argue, that it was only beating her head against a brick wall.
“My dear Claudia, you are a woman and belong to the emotional, impressionable sex. But, for Heaven’s sake, don’t you join any of these crank movements,” he went on impatiently—“for if I am going into Parliament, I don’t want to be saddled with my wife’s partisanships. It’s quite enough to fight the cranks in the House, I don’t want any on my own hearthrug.”
She was tempted to make a hot retort, but Colin’s look checked her. After all, it was useless, and she had determined not to quarrel with him.
“I shan’t be able to stick this much longer,” grumbled her husband, getting up and inspecting the leaden skies. “Rotten weather!”
“It’s the first bad day we’ve had, old man,” replied his friend cheerfully.
“And no newspapers yet.... I wasn’t cut out for a life of idleness. I’ll go in and write some letters.”
He got up and left them on the verandah, and Claudia gave up the pretense of reading.
“Colin,” she exclaimed vehemently, “how came you and he to be friends when you are so different? His views are too awful.”
“There are a lot of people who think as he does,” returned Colin thoughtfully. “But it was sweet of you to take up the cudgels on my behalf. Those things are not easy to do in front of—a Gilbert.”