"Hasn't he rather the air of a sheep
who has strayed from the fold?"
Mr. Sabin raised the horn eyeglass, which he so seldom used, and
contemplated Brott steadily.
"He reminds me more than ever," he remarked, "of Rienzi. He is
like a man torn asunder by great causes. They say that his speech
at Glasgow was the triumph of a born orator."
Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.
"It was practically the preaching a revolution to the people," she
said. "A few more such, and we might have the red flag waving. He
left Glasgow in a ferment. If he really comes into power, what are
we to expect?"
"To the onlookers," Mr. Sabin remarked, "a revolution in this
country would possess many interesting features. The common people
lack the ferocity of our own rabble, but they are even more
determined. I may yet live to see an English Duke earning an honest
living in the States."
"It depends very much upon Brott," Lady Carey said. "For his own
sake it is a pity that he is in love with Lucille."
Mr. Sabin agreed with her blandly.
"It is," he affirmed, "a most regrettable incident."
She leaned a little towards him. The box was not a large one, and
their chairs already touched.
"Are you a jealous husband?" she asked.
"Horribly," he answered.
"Your devotion to Lucille, or rather the singleness of your devotion
to Lucille," she remarked, "is positively the most gauche thing about
you.
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