“No, nor is it an organ at all. It is produced by the vocal and respiratory organs. By means of these organs a sound, or a series of sounds, either better or worse, as the case may be; but the voice itself is not an organ. I positively and emphatically deny that it is.”
“I have heard you say something of the kind before,” returned Rolf. “Perhaps you are correct in your theory. After all, it is but a figure of speech. It is necessary to speak by the card, it would appear, when addressing the Honourable Tufnel Oxmoor.”
“Oh, I can’t cope with you fellows of the press, you know,” observed the young aristocrat, twirling his moustache.
His friend laughed.
“I should like to have a voice, or organ as you term it,” said Oxmoor. “I would astonish their weak nerves.”
“You can’t astonish any person’s nerves,” cried Lady Marvlynn, “that is impossible.”
“And why not, pray?”
“Astonishment must proceed from the brain, or sensorium. Nerves are but threads of communication from the brain, and are not sentient. There are, it is true, nerves of voluntary and involuntary action, but they are incapable of being astonished. The phrase is, therefore, quite incorrect.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the critic. “You’ve got your answer now, Oxmoor. I would not presume to contradict her ladyship. The only answer I can give is that it is like your ‘organ,’ a mere figure of speech.”
“As you are so very particular, it is just as well to be correct, you know,” said her ladyship, tapping her friend on the elbow with the end of her fan. “Don’t you see, Oxmoor, dear boy?”