I believe it’s our only hope. We’re rotting at home – some of us sunk in barbarism, some coddling themselves in over-refinement. What’s the use of preaching peace and civilization, when we know that England’s just beginning her big fight – the fight that will put all history into the shade! We have to lead the world; it’s our destiny; and we must do it by breaking heads. That’s the nature of the human animal, and will be for ages to come.’

Carnaby nodded assent.

‘If we were all like your brother,’ Rolfe went on. ‘I’m glad he’s fighting in India, and not in Africa. I can’t love the buccaneering shopkeeper, the whisky-distiller with a rifle – ugh!’

‘I hate that kind of thing. The gold grubbers and diamond bagmen!4 But it’s part of the march onward. We must have money, you know.’

The speaker’s forehead wrinkled, and again he moved uneasily. Rolfe regarded him with a reflective air.

‘That man you saw here tonight,’ Carnaby went on, ‘the short, thick fellow – his name is Dando – he’s just come back from Queensland. I don’t quite know what he’s been doing, but he evidently knows a good deal about mines. He says he has invented a new process for getting gold out of ore – I don’t know anything about it. In the early days of mining, he says, no end of valuable stuff was abandoned, because they couldn’t smelt it. Something about pyrites – I have a vague recollection of old chemistry lessons. Dando wants to start smelting works for his new process, somewhere in North Queensland.’

‘And wants money, I dare say,’ remarked the listener, with a twinkle of the eye.

‘I suppose so. It was Carton that brought him here for the first time, a week ago. Might be worth thinking about, you know.’

‘I have no opinion. My profound ignorance of everything keeps me in a state of perpetual scepticism. It has its advantages, I dare say.’

‘You’re very conservative, Rolfe, in your finance.’

‘Very.’

‘Quite right, no doubt. Could you join us at Nice or some such place?’

‘Why, I rather thought of sticking to my books. But if the fogs are very bad—’

‘And you would seriously advise us to give up the house?’

‘My dear fellow, how can you hesitate? Your wife is quite right; there’s not one good word to be said for the ordinary life of an English household. Flee from it! Live anywhere and anyhow, but don’t keep house in England. Wherever I go, it’s the same cry: domestic life is played out. There isn’t a servant to be had – unless you’re a Duke and breed them on your own estate. All ordinary housekeepers are at the mercy of the filth and insolence of a draggle-tailed, novelette-reading feminine democracy. Before very long we shall train an army of men-servants, and send the women to the devil.’

‘Queer thing, Rolfe,’ put in his friend, with a laugh; ‘I’ve noticed it of late, you’re getting to be a regular woman-hater.’

‘Not a bit of it. I hate a dirty, lying, incapable creature, that’s all, whether man or woman. No doubt they’re more common in petticoats.’

‘Been to the Frothinghams’ lately?’

‘No.’

‘I used to think you were there rather often.’

Rolfe gave a sort of grunt, and kept silence.

‘To my mind,’ pursued the other, ‘the best thing about Alma is that she appreciates my wife. She has really a great admiration for Sibyl; no sham about it, I’m sure. I don’t pretend to know much about women, but I fancy that kind of thing isn’t common – real friendship and admiration between them. People always say so, at all events.’

‘I take refuge once more,’ said Rolfe, ‘in my fathomless ignorance.’

He rose from his chair, and sat down again on a corner of the table.