"But why should she grasp modern life?" said the tiresome woman.
"Well, there you are!" I retorted, and shut up my eye-glasses with a snap.
"Mr. Inskip, I am not there. Kindly tell me what's the good of it all. Oh, I've been through it myself: Jupiter, Venus, Juno, I know the lot of them. And many of the stories not at all proper."
"Classical education," I said drily, "is not entirely confined to classical mythology. Though even the mythology has its value. Dreams if you like, but there is value in dreams."
"I too have dreams," said Mrs. Worters, "but I am not so foolish as to mention them afterwards."
Mercifully we were interrupted. A rich virile voice close behind us said, "Cherish your dreams!" We had been joined by our host, Harcourt Worters—Mrs. Worters' son, Miss Beaumont's fiancé. Ford's guardian, my employer: I must speak of him as Mr. Worters.
"Let us cherish our dreams!" he repeated. "All day I've been fighting, haggling, bargaining. And to come out on to this lawn and see you all learning Latin, so happy, so passionless, so Arcadian———"
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