Naturally the young man had undergone no
sentimental troubles; he had not yet talked of marrying, and cared
only for the society of mature women who took common-sense views of
life. His religion was the British Empire; his saints, the men who
had made it; his prophets, the politicians and publicists who held
most firmly the Imperial tone.
Where Arnold Jacks was in company, there could be no dullness. Alone
with his host and hostess, Otway would have found the occasion
rather solemn, and have wished it over, but Arnold's melodious
voice, his sprightly discussion and anecdotage, his frequent
laughter, charmed the guest into self-oblivion.
"You are no doubt a Home Ruler, Mr. Otway," observed Arnold, soon
after they were seated.
"Yes, I am," answered Piers cheerily. "You too, I hope?"
"Why, yes. I would grant Home Rule of the completest description,
and I would let it run its natural course for--shall we say five
years? When the state of Ireland had become intolerable to herself
and dangerous to this adjacent island, I would send over dragoons.
And," he added quietly, crumbling his bread, "the question would not
rise again."
"Arnold," remarked Mr. Jacks, with good humour, "you are quite
incapable of understanding this question. We shall see. Mr.
Gladstone's Bill----"
"Mr. Gladstone's _little_ Bill--do say his _little_ Bill."
"Arnold, you are too absurd!" exclaimed the hostess mirthfully.
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