Herr Heinrich made Mr. Britling his instance.  If Mr. Britling were a German he would certainly have some sort of title, a definite position, responsibility.  Here he was not even called Herr Doktor.  He said what he liked.  Nobody rewarded him; nobody reprimanded him.  When Herr Heinrich asked him of his position, whether he was above or below Mr. Bernard Shaw or Mr. Arnold White or Mr. Garvin or any other publicist, he made jokes.  Nobody here seemed to have a title and nobody seemed to have a definite place.  There was Mr. Lawrence Carmine; he was a student of Oriental questions; he had to do with some public institution in London that welcomed Indian students; he was a Geheimrath—­

“Eh?” said Mr. Direck.

“It is—­what do they call it? the Essex County Council.”  But nobody took any notice of that.  And when Mr. Philbert, who was a minister in the government, came to lunch he was just like any one else.  It was only after he had gone that Herr Heinrich had learnt by chance that he was a minister and “Right Honourable....”

“In Germany everything is definite.  Every man knows his place, has his papers, is instructed what to do....”

“Yet,” said Mr. Direck, with his eyes on the glowing roses, the neat arbour, the long line of the red wall of the vegetable garden and a distant gleam of cornfield, “it all looks orderly enough.”

“It is as if it had been put in order ages ago,” said Herr Heinrich.

“And was just going on by habit,” said Mr. Direck, taking up the idea.

Their comparisons were interrupted by the appearance of “Teddy,” the secretary, and the Indian young gentleman, damp and genial, as they explained, “from the boats.”  It seemed that “down below” somewhere was a pond with a punt and an island and a toy dinghy.  And while they discussed swimming and boating, Mr. Carmine appeared from the direction of the park conversing gravely with the elder son.  They had been for a walk and a talk together.  There were proposals for a Badminton foursome.  Mr. Direck emerged from the general interchange with Mr. Lawrence Carmine, and then strolled through the rose garden to see the sunset from the end.  Mr. Direck took the opportunity to verify his impression that the elder son was the present Mrs. Britling’s stepson, and he also contrived by a sudden admiration for a distant row of evening primroses to deflect their path past the arbour in which the evening light must now be getting a little too soft for Miss Corner’s book.

Miss Corner was drawn into the sunset party.  She talked to Mr. Carmine and displayed, Mr. Direck thought, great originality of mind.  She said “The City of the Sun” was like the cities the boys sometimes made on the playroom floor.  She said it was the dearest little city, and gave some amusing particulars.  She described the painted walls that made the tour of the Civitas Solis a liberal education.  She asked Mr. Carmine, who was an authority on Oriental literature, why there were no Indian nor Chinese Utopias.