Ribierist cause! Nothing else but that wild hope! He would make a
pronunciamiento himself for such an object against any Government if he could
only get followers! What does Don Carlos Gould think of that? But, of course,
with his English impenetrability, nobody can tell what he thinks. Probably he
thinks of nothing apart from his mine; of his »Imperium in Imperio.« As to Mrs.
Gould, she thinks of her schools, of her hospitals, of the mothers with the
young babies, of every sick old man in the three villages. If you were to turn
your head now you would see her extracting a report from that sinister doctor in
a check shirt - what's his name? Monygham - or else catechising Don Pépé or
perhaps listening to Padre Romàn. They are all down here to-day - all her
ministers of state. Well, she is a sensible woman, and perhaps Don Carlos is a
sensible man. It's a part of solid English sense not to think too much; to see
only what may be of practical use at the moment. These people are not like
ourselves. We have no political reason; we have political passions - sometimes.
What is a conviction? A particular view of our personal advantage either
practical or emotional. No one is a patriot for nothing. The word serves us
well. But I am clear-sighted, and I shall not use that word to you, Antonia! I
have no patriotic illusions. I have only the supreme illusion of a lover.«
    He paused, then muttered almost inaudibly, »That can lead one very far,
though.«
    Behind their backs the political tide that once in every twenty-four hours
set with a strong flood through the Gould drawing-room could be heard, rising
higher in a hum of voices. Men had been dropping in singly, or in twos and
threes: the higher officials of the province, engineers of the railway, sunburnt
and in tweeds, with the frosted head of their chief smiling with slow, humorous
indulgence amongst the young eager faces. Scarfe, the lover of fandangos, had
already slipped out in search of some dance, no matter where, on the outskirts
of the town. Don Juste Lopez, after taking his daughters home, had entered
solemnly, in a black creased coat buttoned up under his spreading brown beard.
The few members of the Provincial Assembly present clustered at once around
their President to discuss the news of the war and the last proclamation of the
rebel Montero, the miserable Montero, calling in the name of a justly