'Oh, the two things are quite consistent,' said Sir Rufus Chasemore, impatiently. 'And is it impossible that I should ever inspire you with a sentiment which you would consent to place in the balance with this intense fraternal affection?' He had no sooner spoken those somewhat sarcastic words than he broke out in a different tone: 'Oh Agatha, for pity's sake don't make difficulties where there are no difficulties!'
'I don't make them; I assure you they exist. It is difficult to explain them, but I can see them, I can feel them. Therefore we mustn't talk this way any more. Please, please don't,' the girl pursued, imploringly. 'Nothing is possible to-day. Some day or other very likely there will be changes. Then we shall meet; then we shall talk again.'
'I like the way you ask me to wait ten years. What do you mean by "changes"? Before heaven, I shall never change,' Sir Rufus declared.
Agatha Grice hesitated. 'Well, perhaps you will like us better.'
'Us? Whom do you mean by "us"? Are you coming back to that beastly question of one's feelings—real or supposed it doesn't matter—about your great and glorious country? Good God, it's too monstrous! One tells a girl one adores her and she replies that she doesn't care so long as one doesn't adore her compatriots. What do you want me to do to them? What do you want me to say? I will say anything in the English language, or in the American, that you like. I'll say that they're the greatest of the great and have every charm and virtue under heaven. I'll go down on my stomach before them and remain there for ever. I can't do more than that!'
