All through the following day the deep impressions of the previous evening held Linton as one is held by the memory of some haunting and impressive dream. Everything down below seemed insignificant and irrelevant. They were dining out that evening, and he could not shake off the feeling that in everything connected with that ordinary function he was playing the part of a small automaton on a puppet stage. He and his fellow-puppet, Sir Robert, got into a little motor-car and rushed over five miles of little roads, between two little hedges, to General Hartwell's little bungalow. Presently, they were sitting round a little white-covered table, cutting up food with little implements, and taking little sips out of little glasses. How wise and important they thought themselves in the midst of all these little things; how self-satisfied everyone appeared! There were four of them at the dinner-table, the third guest being Major Edgar Wardlaw, of the Sappers, a man to whom their host showed great deference and affection. Wardlaw talked but little; the look in his eyes and the lines on his broad, fair forehead suggested concentration of thought on some problem remote from those which the others were discussing. The General himself did most of the talking. He was a woman-hater, that is to say, a hater of woman in the abstract. To the individual woman he was[Pg 26] gentleness and kindness itself. But rumours of a new and daring forward movement by the Vice-President of the Council and her party had roused the veteran to a pitch of extraordinary resentment. It was said that Lady Catherine contemplated forming a regiment of Amazons in the Twentieth Century! It was monstrous. The General boiled over with disgust and indignation. His language at times became absolutely lurid.
"A devilish nice pass we've come to at last," he growled. Then he seemed to be vainly ransacking his vocabulary for strong language, and gulped down his wine in default of finding an adequate objurgation. The judge laughed with gentle amusement at his fiery old friend.
"It's all very well to laugh, Herrick, but, damme, sir, it's the last straw, it's the last straw!" roared the General.
"Just what we've been wanting," said Sir Robert, calmly.
"Eh, what d'ye mean?" General Hartwell stared.
"When people get the last straw laid on, they can't stand any more. So now's the time for the worm to turn."
"You're right! By gad, you're right! But how's the worm going to manage it?" cried the old officer, leaning back.
The judge fingered the stem of his wine glass and gazed thoughtfully at the table-cloth. Major Wardlaw turned his gaze on him as if suddenly recalled from the regions of mental speculation. Linton, also self-absorbed as yet, began to listen and to wonder.
"You have strong views about women. You don't exactly love the sex," said the Judge.
"How can a man love 'em when he sees the mis[Pg 27]chief they've done by their ambitions and pertinacity?" demanded the General.
"My dear fellow, you are too sweeping. They're not all alike. There are plenty of good women left in the world."
"Show me where they are, then! I don't say they all set out to break the Ten Commandments. But it's their love of power, their restless ambitions, their confounded unreasonableness, that have played the deuce with us. They want to rule the world, sir, and they weren't meant for it, and it's not good for them, and they know it!"
They all laughed at the General's vehemence, and extending a wrinkled forefinger, he went on, with unabated powers of declamation:
"Men ought to have nipped it in the bud, that's what they ought to have done. Instead of which we gave place to their insidious aggressions. We gave 'em an inch and they took an ell. We gave 'em the whip hand, and they weren't content with it in little things. By heaven, they're chastising us with scorpions. And there'll be the devil to pay before we can put 'em back in their proper place. But, mark you, it'll have to be done, if we want to call our souls our own, it'll have to be done. Why! my blood boils when I think of the misery shrewish, self-willed women have inflicted on some of the best fellows in the world. I know cases. I've seen it done among my old friends. I knew a man, he was a retired Colonel with a splendid record. What do you think? His scold of a wife used to send him out to buy cream for the apple-tart. It's not always the wife. Sometimes it's the mother-in-law. Sometimes it's a sister. Now and then it's a daughter. I know an old school-fellow, a parson; the poor beggar has three plain sisters quartered on him; great, gaunt[Pg 28] women who talk about 'dear Robert,' and badger dear Robert out of his life. His only happy moment is when they're all gone to bed. He'd like to marry; but he's too soft-hearted to send 'em about their business. I tell you the man's afraid. I know another fellow, too ... but there—what's the good of talking!"
Major Wardlaw was raising from his seat.
"Excuse me for two minutes, General!"
"Yes, yes, to be sure," assented his host, and when the Major had closed the door behind him, he dropped his voice and leaned across the table.
"Now there's a man! The best engineer the British army has produced for thirty years. That man, sir, designed the great fort they built at Dover to guard the Channel Tunnel. He's got a big brain and a great heart, but in one way he's shown himself a fool. What does he do but go and marry a garrison flirt, sir, a little thing with a pretty face and fluffy hair, and the tongue of a viper. The poison of asps was under her lips. I can tell you she led Wardlaw a life. Now she's dead and gone, and I do believe he's sorry! He worships the child she left him,—little Miss Flossie. She's upstairs at the present moment. Wardlaw's gone to say good-night to her. He worships the ground she walks on, and that child takes it all for granted. By heaven! she orders him about. She's got her mother's blue eyes and fluffy hair, and I'd wager she's got her temper too. By-and-by she'll lead her father a pretty dance. He wouldn't come here to stay with me—and, mind you, I'm his oldest friend,—no, he wouldn't come without Miss Flossie. Oh these women! By heaven, they raise my gorge."
"My dear Hartwell," said the Judge, calmly, "You go too far. You're prejudiced...."
[Pg 29]
"Prejudiced!" exclaimed the General, "were Thackeray and Dicken............