We don't recognize an aristocracy in our country, Sir
Basil, but, though not recognized, it rules,--blood must rule; one often,
in a democracy, feels that as one's problem."
"It's only through service that it rules," Mr. Potts suddenly ejaculated
from where he sat doubled on the steps looking with a gloomy gaze into the
distance. "Service; service--that's our watchword. Lend a hand."
Imogen saw a latent boredom piercing Sir Basil's affability. Great truths
uttered by some lips might be made to seem very unefficacious. She proposed
to him that she should show him the wonderful display of mountain-laurel
that grew higher up among the pine-woods. He rose with alacrity, but Mrs.
Potts rose too. Imogen could hardly control her vexation when, nipping the
crumbs from her lap and smoothing the folds at her waist, she declared that
she was just in the humor for a walk and must see the laurel with them.
"You mustn't tire yourself. Wouldn't you rather stay and have another cup
of tea and talk to me?" Mrs. Upton interposed, so that Imogen felt a dart
of keen gratitude for such comprehension; but Mrs. Potts was not to be
turned aside from her purpose. "Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Upton," she
answered; "we must have many, many talks indeed; but I do want to see my
precious Imogen, and to see the laurel with her. You are one of those rare
beings, darling Imogen, with whom one can _share_ nature. Will you come,
too, Delancy, dear?" she asked her husband, "or will you stay and talk to
Mrs.
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