Heron. You were Captain in a Cavalry Regiment. You will remember that presently, and a great deal more. You"—she turned to another—"were Laurence de Heyn, and you were a young Lawyer, intending to be a Judge. You will remember that, in time. You"—she turned to another—"were Jack Culliford; and you were a Private Secretary, intending to go into Parliament, and to rise perhaps to be Prime Minister. And you"—she turned to the last—"were Arnold Buckland, already a Poet of Society. You will all remember these things before long. Lastly, you all belonged to the people who were born rich, and never used to have any care or anxiety about their daily bread. Nor did you ever do any work, unless you chose."
"It is so long ago," said Lady Mildred—her face was brighter now—"that we have forgotten even that there ever were gentlefolk."
"It is not strange," said Christine, "that you should have forgotten it. Why should you remember anything? We are only a herd, one with another; one not greater, and one not less, than another. Now that you know your names again and remember clearly, because I have told you"—she repeated the information for fear they should again forget—"who and what you were, each of you—you will go on to remember more."
"Oh, what good? What good?" asked Lady Mildred.
"Because it will rouse you from your lethargy," said the girl, impetuously. "Oh, you sit in silence day after day; you walk alone; you ought to be together as you used to be, talking, playing. See! I have read the books; your lives were full of excitement. It makes my heart beat only to read how the men went out to fight, daring everything, for the sake of the women they loved."
"The men love us no longer," said Lady Mildred.
