the grand sense; the sense that, you see, is so intensely ours."
"'Ours'?"—he couldn't but again throw back her word at her. "Isn't it, damn you, just in ours———?"
"No, no," she interrupted "not in ours!" She smiled at him still, though it was strained, as if he really ought to perceive.
But he glared as at a senseless juggle. "What and who the devil are you talking about? What are 'we,' the whole blest lot of us, pray, but the best and most English thing in the country: people walking—and riding!—straight; doing, disinterestedly, most of the difficult and all the thankless jobs; minding their own business, above all, and expecting others to mind theirs?" So he let her "have" the stout sound truth, as it were—and so the direct force of it clearly might, by his view, have made her reel. "You and I, my lady, and your two decent brothers, God be thanked for them, and mine into the bargain, and all the rest, the jolly lot of us, take us together—make us numerous enough without any foreign aid or mixture: if that's what I understand you to mean!"
