"I don't know anything about the Nevilles. Tell me about them."
Sidney settled herself with her work under the shady beech that grew down so close, to the river. Her father responded:
"Charles Neville was a school chum of mine. He came into a nice little property in Hampshire, and was member in the House for a good number of years. He had talent and interest, and we expected him to do great things; but he was one of those independent thinkers, and though he made good speeches, he never secured a good office for himself under his Government. This son of his is going the same way, I fear. He was in the Army, and, I expect, might have got on; but on his father's death, the constituents insisted that he should take his father's seat, and Randolph chucked the Service. He was telling me about it last night, and, upon my soul, I don't blame him. He was returned all right, and was in Parliament for five years, but at the last election, he retired. He was dead sick of the party discussions, and tricks, and subterfuges. Told me a clean pair of hands was impossible if you climbed the ladder. I don't agree with him, but, of course, things are different from what they were. The class of member is different, to begin with, and now this payment system has been started, the old patriotic spirit will die out."
"What is he doing now? He looks too keen to be an idler."
"He is waiting for a job; has been promised a post of some importance in India or the Colonies. I hope he'll get it. He's a strong man; too conscientious for the present time."
"Oh, dad, don't! I hate to hear you talk so."
Sidney's grey eyes flashed fire.
"Do you think we're to follow the multitude, and to abjure all the traditions of our race?"
"Why cast pearls to swine?" said the Admiral, "or take up pebbles with a silver spoon? There are only two professions, my dear, where dirty tricks don't prosper, and those are soldiering and sailoring."
"I'm sure every profession wants good clean-handed men in it," retorted Sidney.