Warlike in spirit these
people may be--but they have no chance against ourselves. And war on
such, however agreeable to the blind moment, is odious to the future.
The great heart of mankind ever beats in sense and sympathy with the
weaker. It is against this great heart of mankind that we are going.
In the name of Justice and Civilization we pursue this policy; but by
Justice we shall hereafter be judged, and by Civilization--condemned.
While he is speaking, a little figure has flown along the
terrace outside, in the direction of the music, but has stopped
at the sound of his voice, and stands in the open window,
listening--a dark-haired, dark-eyed child, in a blue
dressing-gown caught up in her hand. The street musicians,
having reached the end of a tune, are silent.
In the intensity of MORES feeling, a wine-glass, gripped too
strongly, breaks and falls in pieces onto a finger-bowl. The
child starts forward into the room.
MORE. Olive!
OLIVE. Who were you speaking to, Daddy?
MORE. [Staring at her] The wind, sweetheart!
OLIVE. There isn't any!
MORE. What blew you down, then?
OLIVE. [Mysteriously] The music. Did the wind break the
wine-glass, or did it come in two in your hand?
MORE. Now my sprite! Upstairs again, before Nurse catches you.
Fly! Fly!
OLIVE. Oh! no, Daddy! [With confidential fervour] It feels like
things to-night!
MORE. You're right there!
OLIVE.
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