Читать книгу The Road - Warwick Deeping - Страница 23

Table of Contents

Mrs. Gloriana was more shocked than either of them, and more angry, and as though for solace she went about carrying the Cairn in her arms, and Rollo being a gentleman, was full of loving licks. Did the lady smell sweet? Assuredly.

She was pouring out tea for the two men. Her glances went hither and thither into the green glooms of the high woods. Somewhere a reaper droned, and the June grasses were falling. Yet even in this very peaceful spot a little tremor of disquietude troubled her. So might some Roman matron in a garden of Silchester or Old Sarum have felt on the east wind the rumour of the barbarians.

Mrs. Gurney stroked the dog.

“I wonder, did the savage who smashed those flowers feel virtuous? No country lad would have done it. That’s the town’s touch.”

She looked at Bonthorn as though her curiosity asked to be satisfied. She had more than a feeling that he knew the name of the destroying angel. He smiled at her, and his smile was wise.

“One connects that kind of wantonness with the new intelligentsia.”

She nodded.

“Is there such a thing?”

“Always. The politically-minded young man. But in this case I think the inspiration was more primitive.”

“Not jealousy?”

“Not exactly professional jealousy. Malice. Besides—it was a very small malice. If one has read the history of Ireland—for instance—during the revolutionary period, one ceases to be astonished at anything modern man does—and especially the so-called idealists. Imagine oneself butchering an Irish girl by the roadside because she was going out to play tennis with an Englishman!”

“Not idealism, Mr. Bonthorn——”

“O—yes—idealism gone mad, and utterly without a sense of humour. After all—I had my laugh. I think I would rather my idealist laughed—than raved.”

The Californian produced a cigar.

“You’re right there, Mr. Bonthorn. I’d say that a man like Mark Twain did more for humanity than a mad dog like Karl Marx. If anyone did that to my garden in California——”

Mrs. Gurney’s eyes were mischievous.

“Would you laugh?”

“Sure, madam—I would try to—after I had handled my shot-gun—and put it away again. Laughter carries farther than shot-guns.”