the future of the raceis in the hands of

"And the future?" she reflected, vaguely envisaging a race of menbecoming more and more like Hirst, and a race of women becomingmore and more like Rachel. "Oh no," she concluded, glancing at him,"one wouldn't marry you. Well, then, the future of the raceis in the hands of Susan and Arthur; no--that's dreadful. 　　Of farm labourers; no--not of the English at all, but of Russiansand Chinese." This train of thought did not satisfy her, and wasinterrupted by St. John, who began again: 　　"I wish you knew Bennett. He's the greatest man in the world.""Bennett?" she enquired. Becoming more at ease, St. John droppedthe concentrated abruptness of his manner, and explained that Bennettwas a man who lived in an old windmill six miles out of Cambridge. 　　He lived the perfect life, according to St. John, very lonely,very simple, caring only for the truth of things, always ready to talk,and extraordinarily modest, though his mind was of the greatest. 　　"Don't you think," said St. John, when he had done describing him,"that kind of thing makes this kind of thing rather flimsy? Did younotice at tea how poor old Hewet had to change the conversation? 　　How they were all ready to pounce upon me because they thought Iwas going to say something improper? It wasn't anything, really. 　　If Bennett had been there he'd have said exactly what he meant to say,or he'd have got up and gone. But there's something rather bad forthe character in that--I mean if one hasn't got Bennett's character. 　　It's inclined to make one bitter. Should you say that I was bitter?"Helen did not answer, and he continued: 　　"Of course I am, disgustingly bitter, and it's a beastly thing to be. 　　But the worst of me is that I'm so envious. I envy every one. 　　I can't endure people who do things better than I do--perfectly absurdthings too--waiters balancing piles of plates--even Arthur,because Susan's in love with him. I want people to like me,and they don't. It's partly my appearance, I expect," he continued,"though it's an absolute lie to say I've Jewish blood in me--as a matter of fact we've been in Norfolk, Hirst of Hirstbourne Hall,for three centuries at least. It must be awfully soothing to be like you--every one liking one at once.""I assure you they don't," Helen laughed.