Part 11 (1/2)

”Even admitting that,” said Rendel, ”it seems to me that the determination and courage necessary to knock down what is in your way, when it can't be got out by any other method, is part of what makes a great statesman.”

”You speak,” said Sir William, ”as if he were a savage potentate.”

”In some respects,” said Rendel, ”the savage potentate and civilised ruler are inevitably alike. The ultimate ground, the ultimate arbiter of their empire, is force.”

”Empire!” said Sir William. ”That is the cry! In your greed for empire you lose sight of everything but the aggrandis.e.m.e.nt of a dominion already so immense as to be unwieldy.”

”Still,” said Rendel, ”as we have this big thing in our hands, it is better to keep it there than let it drop and break to pieces.”

”I don't wish to let it drop,” said Gore. ”I wish to be content to increase it by friendly intercourse with the world, by the arts of peace and civilisation, and not by destruction and bloodshed.”

”I am afraid,” said Rendel, ”that the savage, which, as you say too truly, still lurks in the majority of civilised beings, will not be content to see the world governed on those amiable lines.”

”There I must beg leave to differ from you,” said Sir William, ”I believe that the majority of civilised human beings will, when it has been put before them, be on the side of peace.”

”We shall see,” Rendel said, with a smile which was perhaps not as conciliatory as he intended it to be.

”Yes, you will see when the General Election comes,” said Gore. ”And if it goes for us, and we have a Cabinet composed of men who are not the mere puppets in the hands of an autocrat, the destinies of the world will be altered.”

”Father,” said Rachel, ”do you really think that is how the General Election will go?”

”Quite possibly,” Gore said, with decision. Rendel said nothing.

”Oh, father!” said Rachel. ”I wish that you were in Parliament! Suppose you were in the Government!”

”Ah, well, my life as you know, was otherwise filled up,” said Sir William, with a sigh; ”but in that case the Imperialists perhaps might not have found everything such plain sailing.” And so much had he penetrated himself with the conviction of what he was saying, that he felt himself, as he sat there opposite Rendel, whose wisdom and sagacity in reality so far exceeded his own, to be in the position of the older, wiser man of great influence and many opportunities condescending to explain his own career to an obscure novice.

Rendel looked across at Rachel sitting opposite to him, listening to what her father said with her customary air of sweet and gentle deference, and then smiling at himself; and again he inwardly vowed that, for her sake, he would endure the daily pinp.r.i.c.ks that are almost as difficult to bear in the end as one good sword-thrust.

”I must say it will be interesting to see who goes out as Governor of British Zambesiland,” he said presently, looking up from the paper.

”That will be a big job if you like.”

”Let's hope they will find a big man to do it,” said Sir William.

”I heard to-day,” said Rendel, ”that it would probably be Belmont.”

”Well, he'll be a firebrand Governor after Stamfordham's own heart,”

said Gore. ”It's absurd sending all these young men out to these important posts.”

”That is rather Stamfordham's theory,” said Rendel--”to have youngish men, I mean.”

”If he would confine himself to theories,” said Sir William, ”it would be better for England at this moment.”

”It might, however, interfere with his practical use as a Foreign Secretary,” Rendel was about to say, but he checked the words on his tongue.

After dinner that evening he remained downstairs under pretext of writing some letters, while Rachel proposed to her father to give her a lesson in chess.

Rendel turned on the electric light in his study, shut the door, stood in front of the fire and looked round him with a delightful sense of possession, of privacy, of well-being. His new house--indeed, one might almost have said his new life--was still so recent a possession as to have lost none of its preciousness. He still felt a childish joy in all its details. The house was one of those built within the last decade which seem to have made a struggle to escape the uniformity of the older streets. The front door opened into a square hall, from the left side of which opened the dining-room, from the right the study, both of these rooms having bow windows, built with that broad sweep of curve which makes for beauty instead of vulgarity. The house, Rendel had told his wife with a smile when they came to it, he had furnished for her, with the exception of one room in it; the study he had arranged for himself.

And it certainly was a room in which, to judge by appearances, a worker need never be stopped in his work by the paltry need of any necessary tool. Rendel was a man of almost exaggerated precision and order.