Part 7 (1/2)
”That young Langrishe sits his horse well,” he said. ”He's a good soldier, Nelly, my girl. A very good soldier, or I'm much mistaken.”
But Nelly was apparently too absorbed in her duty of making the tea to answer the remark. For an instant she was redder than a rose. No one would have suspected Sir Denis of slyness, but the look he shot at the girl was certainly sly. Under the white tablecloth he rubbed his hands softly together.
CHAPTER VII
A CHANCE MEETING
It was worse for the General when Sir Robin Drummond left Oxford and settled in London, with an avowed intention of reading for the Bar, and at the same time making politics his real career.
”A man ought to do something in the world,” he said to his irate uncle.
”The Bar is always a stepping-stone. I confess I don't look to practice very much; my real bent is for politics. But the law interests me, and it is always a stepping-stone.”
”I should have thought that the profession of arms, which your father and your grandfather adorned, as well as a good many of your forbears, might serve you as well,” Sir Denis said, hotly.
”You leave out my uncle, sir,” the young man replied, with urbane good humour. ”Yes, the Drummonds have done very well for the profession of arms. Still, with my beliefs on the subject of war----”
”Pray don't air them, don't air them. You know what I think about them.
Your father's son ought to be ashamed of professing such sentiments.”
”One must abide by one's sentiments, one's convictions, if one is to be good for anything. Uncle Denis,” Sir Robin said, patiently.
”You'll have no chance in politics. No const.i.tuency will return you.
What we want now is a strong Government that will strengthen us, through our Army and Navy, sir, against our enemies. Such a Government will come in at the next election a-top of the wave. The people, or I am much mistaken, are not going to see the bulwarks of our power tampered with.
The country is all for war. Where do you come in?”
Sir Robin smiled ever so slightly. It was that smile of his, with its faintest hint of intellectual superiority, that riled the General to bursting point.
”I don't believe there is a war feeling, Uncle Denis,” he said. ”The country has had enough of war. However, I should not come in on top of a wave of war feeling in any case. You would be quite right in asking where I should come in. To be sure, I look to come in on top of the anti-war wave. My side is pledged against war. The working man----”
”You don't mean to say that you're going to appeal to _him_!” Sir Denis shouted. ”You don't mean to say that you're going to side with the Radicals! I've lived to see many strange things, but--Gerald's son a Radical!”
He brought out the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns with the sound of guns popping. His face was red with indignation, his eyes leaping at his degenerate nephew. The next words did not tend to calm him.
”Do you know, Uncle Denis, I believe that if my father had been a politician he would have been a Radical? His profound feeling for Christianity, his adherence to the creed of its Founder, Whose whole life was a glorification of toil----”
”Spare me, spare me!” cried the General, restraining himself with difficulty. ”So a man can't be a Christian and a gentleman! And you think your father would have been a Radical! I can tell you, young gentleman----”
At this moment Nelly came into the room, charming in her short-waisted frock of white satin, with a little cap of pearls on her hair. Both men turned and stared at her, pleasure and affection in their eyes.
”So you've been heckling poor Robin as usual,” she said, stroking her father's cheek. ”Heckling poor Robin and getting your hair on end like a fretful porcupine. I'll never be able to make you into a nice, sweet, quiet old gentleman.”
”Turn your attention to him,” said the General, indicating his nephew by an unfriendly nod. ”What do you think, Nell? He's a Radical. He's going to contest a seat for the Radicals. What do you say now?”
”Pooh!” said Nelly, with her pretty chin in the air. ”Pooh! Why shouldn't he? Lots of nice people are Radicals. If he feels that way, of course he ought to do it.”
Robin's unpractical eyes thanked her mutely. He was as plain-looking a man as he had been a boy, more hatchet-faced than ever. He was long and lean and angular, and his positions were ungraceful. But his eyes were the eyes of Don Quixote. The eyes had appealed to Nelly as long as she could remember.
”Oh, if you're against me, Nell!” said Sir Denis, lamely. ”Ah! there's the bell! And a good thing, too. I couldn't eat my lunch to-day for old Grogan of the Artillery. He's a man with a grievance. It soured my wine and spoilt my food. Well, well, Robin, if you're under Nelly's protection you may do what you like--join the Peace Society, if you like.”