“What do you think will be the effect?”
He raised himself a little, looking out as usual through the darkening windows on to that astonishing view. Everywhere now lights were glowing, a sea of mellow moons just above the houses, and above the mysterious heavy blue of a summer evening.
“The effect?” he said. “It can be nothing but good. It was time that something happened. My dear, I feel very downcast sometimes, as you know. Well, I do not think I shall be again. I have been afraid sometimes that we were losing all our spirit, and that the old Tories were partly right when they prophesied what Communism would do. But after this—-”
“Well?”
“Well; we have shown that we can shed our blood too. It is in the nick of time, too, just at the crisis. I don’t want to exaggerate; it is only a scratch—but it was so deliberate, and—and so dramatic. The poor devil could not have chosen a worse moment. People won’t forget it.”
Mabel’s eyes shone with pleasure.
“You poor dear!” she said. “Are you in pain?”
“Not much. Besides, Christ! what do I care? If only this infernal Eastern affair would end!”
He knew he was feverish and irritable, and made a great effort to drive it down.
“Oh, my dear!” he went on, flushed a little. “If they would not be such heavy fools: they don’t understand; they don’t understand.”