'The judgment of the rest of the world—what is that?'
'Why, that they are simply finished; that they don't count.'
'Oh, a nation must count which produces such men as my husband,' Agatha rejoined, with another laugh. Macarthy was on the point of retorting that it counted as the laughing-stock of the world (that of course was something), but he checked himself and she moreover checked him by going on: 'Why Macarthy, you ought to come out with a book yourself about the English. You would steal my husband's thunder.'
'Nothing would induce me to do anything of the sort; I pity them too much.'
'You pity them?' Lady Chasemore exclaimed. 'It would amuse my husband to hear that.'
'Very likely, and it would be exactly a proof of what is so pitiable—the contrast between their gross pretensions and the real facts of their condition. They have pressing upon them at once every problem, every source of weakness, every danger that can threaten the life of a people, and they have nothing to meet the situation with but their classic stupidity.'
'Well, that has been useful to them before,' said Lady Chasemore, smiling. Her smile was a little forced and she coloured as her brother had done when she first spoke to him. She found it impossible not to be impressed by what he said and yet she was vexed that she was, because this was far from her desire.
He looked at her as if he saw some warning in her face and continued: 'Excuse my going so far. In this last month that we have spent together so
