"It stands for something."
"What does it stand for?—that's the point. There's no damned merit about it, you know. Any fool can be a duke, and they mostly are."
Mary, if a little amused, was more than a little shocked.
"I'm sure it's not right to think that," she declared stoutly. "I would say myself, although one oughtn't to have a say on the subject, that it's the duty of your sort of people to keep things going."
"They are not my sort of people. I was pitchforked among them. And if you don't believe in them and the things it is their duty to keep going what becomes of your theory, Miss Scrupulous?"
"But that's Socialism," said Mary with solemn eyes.
"No, it's the common sense of the matter. All this centralization of power in the hands of a few hard-shells like my Uncle Albert—he's not my uncle really—is very bad for the State. He owns one-fifth of Scotland, and the only things he ever really takes seriously are his meals and his health."
"He stands for something all the same."
The young man laughed outright.
"I know I'm a prig." The blushing candor disarmed him. "But if one has a great bump of reverence I suppose one can't help exaggerating one's feelings a little."
"I suppose not," laughed the young man. And then there was a pause. "By jove," he said at the end of it, "you'd be the last word in duchesses."
"You won't get Bridport House to think so."
"So much the worse for Bridport House. Of course, I admit it has other views for me. But the trouble is,
