“I see it all more clearly since this bit of Colonial experience,” she said.  “Our work in the world is marked out for us; we have no choice, unless we turn cowards.  Of course we shall be hated by other countries, more and more.  We shall be accused of rapacity, and arrogance, and everything else that’s disagreeable in a large way; we can’t help that.  If we enrich ourselves, that is a legitimate reward for the task we perform.  England means liberty and enlightenment; let England spread to the ends of the earth!  We mustn’t be afraid of greatness!  We can’t stop—­still less draw back.  Our politics have become our religion.  Our rulers have a greater responsibility than was ever known in the world’s history—­ and they will be equal to it!”

The listeners felt that a little clapping of the hands would have been appropriate; they exchanged a glance, as if consulting each other as to the permissibility of such applause.  But Irene’s eloquent eyes and glowing colour excited more admiration than criticism; in their hearts they wished joy to the young life which would go on its way through an ever changing world long after they and their old-fashioned ideas had passed into silence.

In a laughing moment, Irene told them of the proposal she had received from Trafford Romaine.  This betokened her high spirits, and perchance indicated a wish to make it understood that her acceptance of Arnold Jacks was no unconsidered impulse.  The ladies were interested, but felt this confidence something of an indiscretion, and did not comment upon it.  They hoped she would not be tempted to impart her secret to persons less capable of respecting it.

During these days there came a definite invitation from Mrs. Borisoff, who was staying in Hampshire, at the house of her widowed mother, and Irene gladly accepted it.  She wished to see more of Helen Borisoff, whose friendship, she felt, might have significance for her at this juncture of life.  The place and its inhabitants, she found on arriving, answered very faithfully to Helen’s description; an old manor-house, beautifully situated, hard by a sleepy village; its mistress a rather prim woman of sixty, conventional in every thought and act, but too good-natured to be aggressive, and living with her two unmarried daughters, whose sole care was the spiritual and material well-being of the village poor.

“Where I come from, I really don’t know,” said Helen to her friend.  “My father was the staidest of country gentlemen.  I’m a sport, plainly.  You will see my mother watch me every now and then with apprehension.  I fancy it surprises her that I really do behave myself—­that I don’t even say anything shocking.  With you, the dear old lady is simply delighted; I know she prays that I may not harm you.  You are the first respectable acquaintance I have made since my marriage.”

In the lovely old garden, in the still meadows, and on the sheep-cropped hillsides, they had many a long talk.  Now that Irene was as good as married, Mrs. Borisoff used less reserve in speaking of her private circumstances; she explained the terms on which she stood with her husband.