She broached the subject of grouse,
addressing to Otway an ambiguous remark which led March to ask, with
veiled surprise, whether he was a sportsman.

"Mr. Otway's taste is for bigger game," she exclaimed, before Piers
could reply. "He lives in hope of potting Russians on the Indian
frontier."

"Well, I can sympathise with him in that," said the large-limbed man,
puzzled but smiling. "He'll probably have a chance before very long."

No sooner had he spoken that a scarlet confusion glowed upon his face.
In speculating about Otway, he had for the moment forgotten his
cousin's name.

"I _beg_ your pardon, Helen!--What an idiot I am Of course you were
joking, and I----"

"Don't, don't, don't apologise, Edward! Tell truth and shame--your
Russian relatives! I like you all the better for it."

"Thank you," he answered. "And after all, there's no harm in a little
fighting. It's better to fight and have done with it than keeping on
plotting between compliments. Nations arc just like schoolboys, you
know; there has to be a round now and then; it settles things, and is
good for the blood."

Otway was biting a blade of grass; he smiled and said nothing. Mrs.
Borisoff glanced from him to Irene, who also was smiling, but looked
half vexed.

"How can it be good, for health or anything else?" Miss Derwent asked
suddenly, turning to the speaker.

"Oh, we couldn't do without fighting. It's in human nature."

"In uncivilised human nature, yes."

"But really, you know," urged March, with good-natured deference, "it
wouldn't do to civilise away pluck--courage--heroism--whatever one
likes to call it."

"Of course it wouldn't. But what has pluck or heroism to do with
bloodshed? How can anyone imagine that courage is only shown in
fighting? I don't happen to have been in a battle, but one knows very
well how easy it must be for any coward or brute, excited to madness,
to become what's called a hero. Heroism is noble courage in ordinary
life. Are you serious in thinking that life offers no opportunities for
it?"

"Well--it's not quite the same thing----"

"Happily, not! It's a vastly better thing. Every day some braver deed
is done by plain men and women--yes, women, if you please--than was
ever known on the battle-field. One only hears of them now and then. On
the railway--on the sea--in the hospital--in burning houses--in
accidents of road and street--are there no opportunities for courage?
In the commonest everyday home l