Yet in every stand he had taken, there had been
thought, logic and reasoning, wrongly premised, but always based on
principles. On paper he was generally right; in practice, generally
wrong. His buoyant devotion to an idea was an inspiration and a tonic.
The curious thing was that, while still this political matter was hanging
fire, he painted with elation.
His mother knew he did not see the thousand little things which made
public life so wearying; that he only realized the big elements of
national policy. She understood how those big things would inspire the
artist in him. For, after all, there was the spirit of Art in framing a
great policy which would benefit millions in the present and countless
millions in the future. So, at the railway station, as they waited for
the train, with an agitation outwardly controlled, she said:
"The men who have fought before, will want to stand, so don't be
surprised if--"
"If they reject me, mother?" interrupted Carnac. No, I shan't be
surprised, but I feel in my bones that I'm going to fight Barode
Barouche into the last corner of the corral."
"Don't be too sure of that, my son. Won't the thing that prevents your
marrying Junia be a danger in this, if you go on?"
Sullen tragedy came into his face, his lips set. The sudden paleness of
his cheek, however, was lost in a smile.
"Yes, I've thought of that; but if it has to come, better it should come
now than later.
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