"Politics?" said Mr. Ringgan.
"It is to lose oneself in a seething-pot, where the scum is the most apparent thing."
"But there is society?" said Rossitur.
"Nothing better or more noble than the succession of motes that flit through a sunbeam into oblivion."
"Well, why not then sit down quietly on one's estates and enjoy them, one who has enough?"
"And be a worm in the heart of an apple."
"Well then," said Rossitur laughing, though not knowing exactly how far he might venture, "there is nothing left for you, as I don't suppose you would take to any of the learned professions, but to strike out some new path for yourself--hit upon some grand invention for benefiting the human race and distinguishing your own name at once."
But while he spoke his companion's face had gone back to its usual look of imperturbable coolness; the dark eye was even haughtily unmoved, till it met Fleda's inquiring and somewhat anxious glance. He smiled.
"The nearest approach I ever made to that," said he, "was when I went chestnuting the other day. Can't you find some more work for me, Fairy?"
Taking Fleda's hand with his wonted graceful lightness of manner he walked on with her, leaving the other two to follow together.