How if he cast away this empty lordship? Might it not be
the breaking down of a barrier between him and real life? In doing
so, what duty would he renounce? Who cared a snap of the fingers
whether he signed himself "Dymchurch" or "Walter Fallowfield?" It
was long enough since the barony of Dymchurch had justified its
existence by any public service, and, as most people knew, its
private record had small dignity. The likelihood was that he would
never marry, and, unless either of his sisters did so, every day a
more improbable thing, the title might fall into happy oblivion.
What, in deed, did such titles mean nowadays? They were a silly
anachronism, absurdly in contradiction with that scientific teaching
which rules our lives. Lashmar, of course, was right in his demand
for a new aristocracy to oust the old, an aristocracy of nature, of
the born leaders of men. It might be that he had some claim to a
humble position in that spiritual hierarchy, and perhaps the one
manifest way to make proof of it was by flinging aside his tinsel
privilege--an example, a precedent, to the like-minded of his
caste.
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