ver filled her with reverence or excitement; she never knew them
as a resistless trinity that may intoxicate the worshipper with joy. If
she liked a ploughed field, it was only as a spot of colour--not also as
a hint of the endless strength of the earth. And today she could approve
of one cloud, but object to its fellow. As for Miss Pembroke, she was
not approving or objecting at all. "A hero?" she queried, when the
interval had passed. Her voice was indifferent, as if she had been
thinking of other things.

"A hero? Yes. Didn't you notice how heroic he was?"

"I don't think I did."

"Not at dinner? Ah, Agnes, always look out for heroism at dinner. It is
their great time. They live up to the stiffness of their shirt fronts.
Do you mean to say that you never noticed how he set down Rickie?"

"Oh, that about poetry!" said Agnes, laughing. "Rickie would not mind it
for a moment. But why do you single out that as heroic?"

"To snub people! to set them down! to be rude to them! to make them feel
small! Surely that's the lifework of a hero?"

"I shouldn't have said that. And as a matter of fact Mr. Wonham was
wrong over the poetry. I made Rickie look it up afterwards."

"But of course. A hero always is wrong."

"To me," she persisted, rather gently, "a hero has always been a strong
wonderful being, who champions--"

"Ah, wait till you are the dragon! I have been a dragon most of my life,
I think. A dragon that wants nothing but a peaceful cave. Then in
comes the strong, wonderful, delightful being, and gains a princess
by piercing my hide. No, seriously, my dear Agnes, the chief
characteristics of a hero are infinite disregard for the feelings of
others, plus general inability to understand them."

"But surely Mr. Wonham--"

"Yes; aren't we being unkind to the poor boy. Ought we to go on
talking?"

Agnes waited, remembering the warnings of Rickie, and thinking that
anything she said might perhaps be repeated.

"Though even if he was here he wouldn't understand what we are saying."

"Wouldn't understand?"

Mrs. Failing gave the least flicker of an eye towards her companion.
"Did you take him for clever?"

"I don't think I took him for anything." She smiled. "I have been
thinking of other things, and another boy."

"But do think for a moment of Stephen. I will describe how he spent
yesterday. He rose at eight. From eight to eleven he sang. The song was
called, 'Father's boots will soon fit Willie.' He stopp