When she had been here a day or two, the conversation chanced to take a turn which led to her showing the autograph of Trafford Romaine; she said merely that a friend had given it to her. "An interesting man, I should think," remarked the elder of the two sisters, without emphasis. "An Englishman of a new type, wouldn't you say?" fell from the other. "So far as I understand him. Or perhaps of an old type under new conditions." Irene, paying close attention, was not sure that she understood all that these words implied. "He is immensely admired by some of our friends," she said with restraint. "They compare him to the fighting heroes of our history." "Indeed?" rejoined the elder lady. "But the question is: Are those the qualities that we want nowadays? I admire Sir Walter Raleigh, but I should be sorry to see him, just as he was, playing an active part in our time." "They say," ventured Irene, with a smile, "that but for such men, we may really become a mere nation of shopkeepers." "Do they? But may we not fear that their ideal is simply a shopkeeper ready to shoot anyone who rivals him in trade? The finer qualities I admit; but one distrusts the objects they serve." "We are told," said Irene, "that England _must_ expand." "Probably. But the mere necessity of the case must not become our law. It won't do for a great people to say, 'Make room for us, and we promise to set you a fine example of civilisation; refuse to make room, and we'll blow your brains out!' One doubts the quality of the civilisation promised." Irene laughed, delighted with the vigour underlying the old lady's calm and gentle habit of speech. Yet she was not convinced, though she wished to be. A good many times she had heard in thought the suavely virile utterances of Arnold Jacks; his voice had something that pleased her, and his way of looking at things touched her imagination. She wished these ladies knew Arnold Jacks, that she might ask their opinion of him. And yet, she felt she would rather not have asked it. CHAPTER XI