"Well," said Ann, "you do brighten things up." "One for old Solemn!" said Kurt. "I hoped you'd have cured him." "Oh! I don't want him to be cured. I don't want him to be different." René's vanity was bristling, but in the face of their good humor he could not let it appear. He envied Kurt his ease and the skill with which he gauged Ann's humor to strike laughter out of her, so much so that he could not mind being the subject of it. Her laughter was affectionate. They were in Rita's room, and she lay gazing fascinated at Kurt's brown face, with its merry eyes flashing blue light as he laughed and talked. The children had been told that the great flying man was coming. They had been staring at him with round eyes. At last one of them said: "Did you fly here?" "Not this time, my lad." "Oncet," said the piping voice, "oncet we 'ad a bird-cage." "With a bird in it?" "No. We kep' a ball in it and marbles." "What happened to it?" "Farver popped it. I seen an airyoplane oncet." "Did you? Where?" "In ve Park. A little boy 'ad it." "Right ho! We'll send you an airyoplane like that." The children looked at each other, scared at this promised good fortune. Then they embraced and rocked each other to and fro. René and Kurt took their leave and passed out into the mews. "Well?" said René. "A bit of difference?" "I don't know about that. But I'm always finding that where other folk see only riches or poverty or manners or personal tricks and habits, I see only people, and they are much the same everywhere. I nearly always like them. I'm not like you. I don't expect anything much." "Do I?" "Always. That's what one loves about you. You were the only person who ever expected anything of me, and you gave me confidence to expect something of myself." "Then it's not a bad thing?" "It's a splendid thing in a way, only you need to be able to love a lot of people to bear up against your disappointments. I can't do that. I find them too amusing. I'm too easily pleased with everything they do, and, of course, I never stop to think." "But some things make you think." "What things?" "Having no money is one of them." "I don't know that the poor worry much about thinking, and lack of money is chronic with them." "Joe tried to think. The trouble was that he didn't know how. It took him as far as the Trade Union, and left him there expecting it to do the rest. That's the trouble all round. There has been thinking enough to make the union, but not enough to use it. The mere fact of union seems to swamp thought, even in the leaders. When they speak they are always trying to say not what they themselves think, but what they fancy the collective body of men wants them to think. The result is that events always move just a little too fast for them, and they are tied hand and foot and left to the mercy of the capitalists who can afford to wait longer to see how the cat is going to jump." "And the capitalists?"