"
Lord Arranmore stirred his tea slowly. His face was like the face of a
carved image. Only Brooks seemed still unconscious of the shadow which
was stalking amongst them.
"We talk of life so glibly," he said. "It is a pity that we cannot
realize its simplest elements. Life is purely subjective. Nothing
exists except in our point of view. So we are continually making and
marring our own lives and the lives of other people by a word, an
action, a thought."
"Dear me!" Lady Caroom murmured. "How-ever shall I be able to play
bridge after tea if you all try to addle my brain by paradoxes and
subtle sayings beforehand! What does Arranmore mean?"
He put down his cup.
"Do not dare to understand me," he said. "It is the most sincere
unkindness when one talks only to answer. And as for bridge--remember
that this is a night of mourning. Bridge is far too frivolous a
pursuit."
"Bridge a frivolous pursuit?" Sybil exclaimed. "Heavens, what
sacrilege. What ought we to do, Lord Arranmore?"
"Sit in sackcloth and ashes, and hear Brooks lecture on the poor," he
answered, lightly.
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