r"--every one at once looked at Felix, who
had thus broken in--"that all we West-End people--John and I and Flora
and Stanley, and even you--all we people born in purple and fine linen,
are so accustomed to think we're all that matters, that when we're out
of London there's nobody in it. He meant to say that this is appalling
enough, but that what is still more appalling is the fact that we really
ARE all that matters, and that if people try to disturb us, we can, and
jolly well will, take care they don't disturb us long. Is that what you
meant, Derek?"

Derek turned a rather startled look on Felix.

"What he meant to say," went on Felix, "was, that age and habit, vested
interests, culture and security sit so heavy on this country's chest,
that aspiration may wriggle and squirm but will never get from under.
That, for all we pretend to admire enthusiasm and youth, and the rest of
it, we push it out of us just a little faster than it grows up. Is that
what you meant, Derek?"

"You'll try to, but you won't succeed!"

"I'm afraid we shall, and with a smile, too, so that you won't see us
doing it."

"I call that devilish."

"I call it natural. Look at a man who's growing old; notice how very
gracefully and gradually he does it. Take my hair--your aunt says she
can't tell the difference from month to month. And there it is, or
rather isn't--little by little."

Frances Freeland, who during Felix's long speech had almost closed her
eyes, opened them, and looked piercingly at the top of his head.

"Darling," she said, "I've got the very thing for it. You must take some
with you when you go tonight. John is going to try it."

Checked in the flow of his philosophy, Felix blinked like an owl
surprised.

"Mother," he said, "YOU only have the gift of keeping young."

"Oh! my dear, I'm getting dreadfully old. I have the greatest difficulty
in keeping awake sometimes when people are talking. But I mean to fight
against it. It's so dreadfully rude, and ugly, too; I catch myself
sometimes with my mouth open."

Flora said quietly: "Granny, I have the very best thing for that--quite
new!"

A sweet but rather rueful smile passed over Frances Freeland's face.
"Now," she said, "you're chaffing me," and her eyes looked loving.

It is doubtful if John understood the drift of Felix's exordium, it is
doubtful if he had quite listened--he having so much to not listen to at
the Home Office that the practice was growing on him. A