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"Mary," he said, so abruptly that she looked up at him enquiringly. "Let's walk back a little way...." "But, Quinny, it's getting late. They'll wonder what's happened to us!" "I want to tell you ... now, Mary!" He compelled her to turn, as he spoke, and they walked slowly back towards the fir tree. "What is it, Quinny?" she asked tenderly, as if she would comfort him.
"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions." "I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme?
"Come on, Mary!" he said, turning to go, and turning in such a way that he could not see the Cliff. They walked rapidly up the street.... "That'll warm me," he explained to Mary ... and as he walked, he was afraid to look back. "What the devil's the matter with me?" he kept saying to himself until they reached the end of the lane leading to the Manor. "You're walking too quickly, Quinny!"
Henry went away to do as Gilbert had bidden him, and after a while, he returned with a big packet of sandwiches and apples. "I shan't wait, Gilbert," he said. "I can't stand about all day. I'll come back when the rush is over...." "But why, Quinny?" "I'm going to join, too, with you!..." "You're going to join?... That's awf'lly decent of you, Quinny!" "Decent! Why?
And if the War lasts as long as Kitchener reckons, I shall be forgotten by the time I get back ... and I shall have to begin again at an age when most men have either established themselves or cleared out of the profession altogether. I want to do what's right, but I can't reconcile my two duties, Quinny. I've a duty to England, of course, but I think I have a bigger duty to Rachel and Eleanor.
She talked so easily, and I couldn't think of anything to say. You must have thought I was a fool, Quinny!" "No, Mary!..." "Oh, but I was. I got stupider and stupider, and the more I thought of how stupid I was, the stupider I got. I could have cried with vexation. Do you remember Gilbert's party ... I mean when it was over and we were going home?" "Yes."
They sat in one of the two large boxes of the Pall Mall Theatre. Gilbert was nervous and restless, and after the play began, he retreated to the back of the box and sat down in a corner. "What's up, Gilbert?" Henry whispered to him. "Are you ill?" "Ill!" Gilbert exclaimed, looking up at Henry with a whimsical smile. "Man, Quinny, I'm dying! Go away like a good chap and let me die in peace.
It was good for the race ... kept up the quality of the breed! I shall have to think seriously about this...." "You'd better look out for a farmer's daughter while you're here," Henry suggested. "What! A Welshwoman! Good God, no!! My goodness, Quinny, you ought to bring that fellow, John Marsh, to Wales for a few months. That 'ud cure him of his Slop about nationality.
I've tried to love some one else ... tried very hard!" "Who was it?" he asked. "No one you knew. It was after I'd seen you with Lady Cecily Jayne. I was jealous, Quinny!..." "My dear," he said, flattered by the oneness of her love for him. "But I couldn't. I just couldn't. I suppose I'm rather limited!" She made a wry smile as she spoke. "I felt stupid beside her.
"And if he were an actor, he could get himself up in terrific style!..." Gilbert continued. Henry got up and walked away from them. "It isn't fair," he said, as he went, "to chip me like that. I'm not going to be a parson and I'm not going to be an actor!..." Gilbert followed him and brought him back to the council. "All right, Quinny," he said, "we won't chip you any more.
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