"How so?" demanded Will.
"I've watched the old order passing. I'm part of it. I'm passing, too."
Gloria watched him with melting eyes, Fred turned his back and went through the fruitless rigmarole of trying to appear indifferent, going to the usual length at last of humming through his nose.
"That's what I said. You'd like these castle days back again."
"You're wrong, Will. I pray they never may come back. The place is an anachronism. So am I!—useless for most modern purposes. You'd have to tear castle or me so to pieces that we'd be unrecognizable. The world is going forward, and I'm glad of it. It shall have no hindrance at my hands."
"If men were all like you—" began Gloria, but he checked her with a frown.
"You can call this castle a robbers' nest, if you like. It's easy to call names. It stood for the best men knew in those days—protection of the countryside, such law and order as men understood, and the open road. It was built primarily to keep the roads safe. There are lots of things in England and America to-day. Will, that your descendants (being fools) will sneer at, just as it's the fashion to-day to sneer at relics of the past like this—and me!"
"Who's sneering? Not I! Not we!"
"This castle was built for the sake of the country-side. I've a mind to see it end as it began—that's all."
"Aw—what's eating you, Monty?"
"Shut up croaking, you old raven!" grumbled Fred. "Show us the view you promised. This isn't it, for there isn't a Turk in sight."
