Uncle and Mr. Bang pointed out different politicians in the dining-room, whom they recognized; but I am really not interested in politicians.
Being Sunday there was nothing for us to do, so we sat long at dinner discussing politics and politicians. Mr. Bang hates the Liberals, or “Grits,” as he invariably calls them most cordially. Would the Government again introduce the Navy Bill?
“The Grit opposition to the Navy Bill is politics, merely dirty politics. They claim to advance the scheme for a Canadian Navy, but had the Government advanced their scheme they would have opposed it, they would have had some other,” he said.
“Is it not the duty of an Opposition to act such a part as a process of sounding the popular will?” queried Uncle.
“In some cases, yes: but not in this. The Government did the most practical thing: Ministers went to England and consulted the Admiralty. The British Government told them what they deemed expedient, suggested three Dreadnoughts, told them of an emergency and gave them the benefit of their secret service. What could be more practical? The Grits carried their opposition too far.”
“The Senate did the deed.”
“Subservient to the Grit caucus the Senate did the deed,” agreed Mr. Bang.
“You really believe there is an emergency,” asked Mumsie, “that there is need for these ships?”
“I do. What is more evident than that the British Government is taxing the Mother Country to death to meet an emergency, real or fancied, and it is the duty of Canada to bear a part. Isn’t it an Empire concern? But the Grits think that Canada, forgetful of all else but money-making, is willing to play the stability and existence of the Empire against a stake of thirty-five million dollars. The populace has an open ear for pleasing assurance. So they figure chances, but life and liberty are not given us to be gambled with. There are some things we may not gamble with—and one of them—” he went on, “is a maiden’s reputation.”
Mr. Bang’s remark surprised Mumsie and frightened me. I wish I could sound the depths of that young man’s mind. True he did not glance at me. Had he done so, it could only have meant a warning, that he had knowledge of my—intrigue. And here I feel the pain of my folly, my duplicity. Oh, what a fool was I! Social-climbing—the folly of it!