‘You don’t believe, then,’ said Sidwell, ’that democracy is the proper name for the state into which we are passing?’

’Only if one can understand democracy as the opening of social privileges to free competition amongst men of trade.  And social privilege is everything; home politics refer to nothing else.’

Fanny, true to the ingenuous principle of her years, put a direct question: 

‘Do you approve of real democracy, Mr. Peak?’

He answered with another question: 

‘Have you read the “Life of Phokion” in Plutarch?’

‘No, I’m sorry to say.’

’There’s a story about him which I have enjoyed since I was your age.  Phokion was once delivering a public speech, and at a certain point the majority of his hearers broke into applause; whereupon he turned to certain of his friends who stood near and asked, “What have I said amiss?"’

Fanny laughed.

‘Then you despise public opinion?’

‘With heart and soul!’

It was to Sidwell that he directed the reply.  Though overcome by the joy of such an utterance, he felt that, considering the opinions and position of Buckland Warricombe, he was perhaps guilty of ill manners.  But Sidwell manifested no disapproval.

‘Did you know that story?’ Fanny asked of her.

‘It’s quite new to me.’

’Then I’m sure you’ll read the “Life of Phokion” as soon as possible.  He will just Suit you, Sidwell.’

Peak heard this with a shock of surprise which thrilled in him deliciously.  He had the strongest desire to look again at Sidwell but refrained.  As no one spoke, he turned to Bertha Lilywhite and put a commonplace question.

A servant entered with the tea-tray, and placed it on a small table near Fanny.  Godwin looked at the younger girl; it seemed to him that there was an excess of colour in her cheeks.  Had a glance from Sidwell rebuked her?  With his usual rapidity of observation and inference he made much of this trifle.

Contrary to what he expected, Sidwell’s next remark was in a tone of cheerfulness, almost of gaiety.

’One advantage of our stay in London will be that home will seem more delightful than ever when we return.’

‘I suppose you won’t be back till next summer?’

‘I am afraid not.’

‘Shall you be living here then?’ Fanny inquired.

‘It’s very doubtful.’

He wished to answer with a decided negative, but his tongue refused.  Sidwell was regarding him with calm but earnest eyes, and he knew, without caring to reflect, that his latest projects were crumbling.

‘Have you been to see our friends at Budleigh Salterton yet?’ she asked.

‘Not yet.  I hope to in a few days.’

Pursuing the subject, he was able to examine her face as she spoke of Mr. Moorhouse.  His conjecture was assuredly baseless.