He remembered her words the other
evening about these two and the different lives they lived. Some
romantic notion or other was working in her! And again he looked at
Courtier. A Quixotic type--the sort that rode slap-bang at everything!
All very well--but not for Babs! She was not like the glorious
Garibaldi's glorious Anita! It was truly characteristic of Lord
Dennis--and indeed of other people--that to him champions of Liberty
when dead were far dearer than champions of Liberty when living. Yes,
Babs would want more, or was it less, than just a life of sleeping under
the stars for the man she loved, and the cause he fought for. She would
want pleasure, and, not too much effort, and presently a little power;
not the uncomfortable after-fame of a woman who went through fire, but
the fame and power of beauty, and Society prestige. This, fancy of hers,
if it were a fancy, could be nothing but the romanticism of a young
girl. For the sake of a passing shadow, to give up substance? It
wouldn't do! And again Lord Dennis fixed his shrewd glance on his
great-niece. Those eyes, that smile! Yes! She would grow out of this.
And take the Greek god, the dying Gaul--whichever that young man was!
CHAPTER XXI
It was not till the morning of polling day itself that Courtier
left Monkland Court. He had already suffered for some time from bad
conscience.
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