The Q

by Beth Brower

“What do you think of this gathering?” he asked in low tones. “I can’t imagine this is what you often choose to spend your time doing.” “It’s a foreign country; that’s the true mark,” Quincy admitted, wondering why she was willing to be honest with Lord Arch of all people. “In some senses, yes,” Lord Arch answered politely, “but, in other ways, people are people, if you can strip the lens away.” “The lens?” “Yes. Like with a pair of spectacles.” Lord Arch shifted towards Quincy, who was now sitting with half decent posture in her chair. He leaned forward, a tête-à-tête gleam in his eye. “Strip away the expensive clothing, strip away the well-placed hair, the polished accents, the appropriate social cues, and watch them interact without all those trimmings. People are what you will find, more often than not.” Quincy’s expression must have looked doubtful, for Lord Arch rejoined with, “Oh, yes, you must believe me. It’s true. You don’t think it possible because you insist on operating outside these cues and trappings—one of the reasons I like you so much—but you must make an effort to see people for what they are, must you not?”