"It won't," said Rachel.
"Well, then; no woman has what I may call the political instinct. You have very great virtues; I am the first, I hope, to admit that; but I have never met a woman who even saw what is meant by statesmanship. I am going to make you still more angry. I hope that I never shall meet such a woman. Now, Miss Vinrace, are we enemies for life?"
Vanity, irritation, and a thrusting desire to be understood, urged her to make another attempt.
"Under the streets, in the sewers, in the wires, in the telephones, there is something alive; is that what you mean? In things like dust-carts, and men mending roads? You feel that all the time when you walk about London, and when you turn on a tap and the water comes?"
"Certainly," said Richard. "I understand you to mean that the whole of modern society is based upon co-operative effort. If only more people would realise that. Miss Vinrace, there would be fewer of your old widows in solitary lodgings!"
"Are you a Liberal or are you a Conservative?" she asked.
"I call myself a Conservative for convenience sake," said Richard, smiling. "But there is more in common between the two parties than people generally allow."
There was a pause, which did not come on Rachel's side from any lack of things to say; as usual she could not say them, and was further confused by the fact that the time for talking probably ran short. She was haunted by absurd jumbled ideas—how, if one went back far enough, everything perhaps was intelligible; everything was in common; for the mammoths who pastured in the fields of Richmond High Street had turned into paving stones and boxes full of ribbon, and her aunts.
"Did you say you lived in the country when you were a child?" she asked.
Crude as her manners seemed to him, Richard was flattered. There could be no doubt that her interest was genuine.
"I did," he smiled.
"And what happened?" she asked. "Or do I ask too many questions?"