It must be done involuntarily, as was the
case with this utterance of Otway's. Irene rewarded him with a look
such as he had never had from her, the look of rejoicing
comradeship.
"Indeed I should! Italy is becoming a misery to those who love her.
Is no plot going on? Couldn't one start a conspiracy against that
infamous misgovernment?"
"There's an arch-plotter at work. His name is Hunger. Let us be glad
that Italy can't enrich herself by manufactures. Who knows? The
revolution against militarism may begin there, as that against
feudalism did in France. Talk of enthusiasm! How should we feel if
we read in the paper some morning that the Italian people had formed
into an army of peace--refusing to pay another centesimo for
warfare?
"The next boat for Calais! The next train for Rome!" Their eyes met,
interchanging gleams of laughter.
"Oh, but the crowd, the crowd!" sighed Piers. "What is bad enough to
say of it? who shall draw its picture with long enough ears?"
"It has another aspect, you know."
"It has. At its best, a smiling simpleton; at its worst, a murderous
maniac."
"You are not exactly a socialist," remarked Irene, with that smile
which, linking past and present, blended in Otway's heart old love
and new--her smile of friendly irony.
"Socialism? I seldom think of it; which means, that I have no faith
in it.--When we came in, you were playing.
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