n had occurred during the
previous century. We punctured in the Ridinghanger drive, Restall did
his own repairs, and so it was we stayed for nearly four hours and
instead of a mere caller I became a familiar friend of the family.

Your mother then was still not eighteen, a soft white slip of being,
tall, slender, brown-haired and silent, with very still deep dark eyes.
She and your three aunts formed a very gracious group of young women
indeed; Alice then as now the most assertive, with a gay initiative and
a fluent tongue; Molly already a sun-brown gipsy, and Norah still a
pig-tailed thing of lank legs and wild embraces and the pinkest of swift
pink blushes; your uncle Sidney, with his shy lank moodiness, acted the
brotherly part of a foil. There were several stray visitors, young men
and maidens, there were always stray visitors in those days at
Ridinghanger, and your grandmother, rosy and bright-eyed, maintained a
gentle flow of creature comforts and kindly but humorous observations. I
do not remember your grandfather on this occasion; probably he wasn't
there.

There was tea, and we played tennis and walked about and occasionally
visited Restall, who was getting dirtier and dirtier, and crosser and
crosser at his repairs, and spreading a continually more remarkable
assemblage of parts and instruments over the grass about him. He looked
at last more like a pitch in the Caledonian market than a decent country
gentleman paying an afternoon call. And then back to more tennis and
more talk. We fell into a discussion of Tariff Reform as we sat taking
tea. Two of the visitor youths were strongly infected by the new
teachings which were overshadowing the outlook of British Imperialism.
Some mean phrase about not conquering Africa for the German bagman, some
ugly turn of thought that at a touch brought down Empire to the level of
a tradesman's advantage, fell from one of them, and stirred me to sudden
indignation. I began to talk of things that had been gathering in my
mind for some time.

I do not know what I said. It was in the vein of my father's talk no
doubt. But I think that for once I may have been eloquent. And in the
midst of my demand for ideals in politics that were wider and deeper
than artful buying and selling, that looked beyond a vulgar aggression
and a churl's dread and hatred of foreign things, while I struggled to
say how great and noble a thing empire might be, I saw Rachel's face.
This, it was manifes