wouldn't at all mind, I believe, giving over the country to this aristocracy—given SOMETHING—”
“Which they haven't got.”
“Which they haven't got—or they'd be the finest sort of people in the world.”
“That something?” she inquired.
“I don't know. I've been puzzling my wits to know. They've done all sorts of things—”
“That's Lord Wrassleton,” she interrupted, “whose leg was broken—you remember?—at Spion Kop.”
“It's healed very well. I like the gold lace and the white glove resting, with quite a nice awkwardness, on the sword. When I was a little boy I wanted to wear clothes like that. And the stars! He's got the V. C. Most of these people here have at any rate shown pluck, you know—brought something off.”
“Not quite enough,” she suggested.
“I think that's it,” I said. “Not quite enough—not quite hard enough,” I added.
She laughed and looked at me.