On that subject,
her father was emphatic.
"If," remarked Dr. Derwent once, "if our politics ever fall into the
hands of a stock-jobbing democracy, we shall be the hugest force for
evil the poor old world has ever known."
"You think," said Irene, "that one can already see some danger of
it?"
"Well, I think so sometimes. But we have good men still, good men."
"Do you mind telling me," Miss Derwent asked, "whether our
fellow-traveller seems to you one of them?"
"H'm! On the whole, yes. His faults are balanced, I think, by his
aristocratic temper. He is too proud consciously to make dirty
bargains. High-handed, of course; but that's the race--the race.
Things being as they are, I would as soon see him in power as
another."
Irene pondered this. It pleased her.
On the morning after Arnold's proposal, she knew that he and her
father had talked. Dr. Derwent, a shy man, rather avoided her look;
but he behaved to her with particular kindliness; as they stood
looking towards the coast of England, he drew her hand through his
arm, and stroked it once or twice--a thing he had not done on the
whole journey.
"The brave old island!" he was murmuring. "I should be really
disturbed if I thought death would find me away from it. Foolish
fancy, but it's strong in me."
Irene was taciturn, and unlike herself. The approach to port enabled
her to avoid gossips, but one person, Helen Borisoff, guessed what
had happened; Irene's grave countenance and Arnold Jacks' meditative
smile partly instructed her.
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