And is that really everything? I can't help thinking that at the bottom of your heart is something that you've never told to a living soul.
[He gives her a long look, and then after a
moment's thought breaks into a little smile.
Alec.
Why do you want to know so much?
Mrs. Crowley.
Tell me.
Alec.
I daresay I shall never see you again. Perhaps it doesn't much matter what I say to you. You'll think me very silly, but I'm afraid I'm rather—patriotic. It's only we who live away from England who really love it. I'm so proud of my country, and I wanted so much to do something for it. Often in Africa I've thought of this dear England, and longed not to die till I had done my work. Behind all the soldiers and the statesmen whose fame is imperishable, there is a long line of men who've built up the Empire piece by piece. Their names are forgotten, and only students know their history, but each one of them gave a province to his country. And I, too, have my place among them. For five years I toiled night and day, and at the end of it was able to hand over to the Commissioners a broad tract of land, rich and fertile. After my death England will forget my faults and my mistakes. I care nothing for the flouts and gibes with which she has repaid all my pain, for I have added another fair jewel to her crown. I don't want rewards. I only want the honour of serving this dear land of ours.
Mrs. Crowley.
Why is it, when you're so nice really, that you do all you can to make people think you utterly horrid?