ruly
grieve at the loss of their sovereign. I think there are more horrible
and cruel devices in the way of death-taboos and death-customs than
anything else I've met in my researches. Indeed, most of our nomologists
at home believe that all taboos originally arose out of ancestral
ghost-worship, and sprang from the craven fear of dead kings or dead
relatives. They think fetiches and gods and other imaginary supernatural
beings were all in the last resort developed out of ghosts, hostile or
friendly; and from what I see abroad, I incline to agree with them. But
this mourning superstition, now--surely it must do a great deal of harm
in poor households in England. People who can very ill afford to throw
away good dresses must have to give them up, and get new black ones, and
that often at the very moment when they're just deprived of the aid of
their only support and bread-winner. I wonder it doesn't occur to them
that this is absolutely wrong, and that they oughtn't to prefer the
meaningless fetich to their clear moral duty."

"They're afraid of what people would say of them," Frida ventured to
interpose. "You see, we're all so frightened of breaking through an
established custom."

"Yes, I notice that always, wherever I go in England," Bertram answered.
"There's apparently no clear idea of what's right and wrong at all, in
the ethical sense, as apart from what's usual. I was talking to a lady
up in London to-day about a certain matter I may perhaps mention to you
by-and-by when occasion serves, and she said she'd been 'always brought
up to think' so-and-so. It seemed to me a very queer substitute indeed
for thinking."

"I never thought of that," Frida answered slowly. "I've said the same
thing a hundred times over myself before now; and I see how irrational
it is. But, there, Mr. Ingledew, that's why I always like talking with
you so much: you make one take such a totally new view of things."

She looked down and was silent a minute. Her breast heaved and fell. She
was a beautiful woman, very tall and queenly. Bertram looked at her and
paused; then he went on hurriedly, just to break the awkward silence:
"And this dance at Exeter, then--I suppose you won't go to it?"

"Oh, I CAN'T, of course," Frida answered quickly. "And my two other
nieces--Robert's side, you know--who have nothing at all to do with my
brother Tom's wife, out there in India--they'll be SO disappointed. I
was going to take them down to it. Nasty t