Stabb blinked lazily, and seemed to loom enormous over his cigar. "I daresay—if she's got a good case," said he. "Do you know, Wilbraham, I don't much care whether she does or not? But in regard to her complexion——"
"What the devil does her complexion matter?" shouted Wilbraham.
"The human side of a thing always matters," observed Leonard Stabb. "For instance—pray sit down, Wilbraham—standing up and talking loud prove nothing, if people would only believe it—the permanence of hierarchical systems may be historically observed to bear a direct relation to the emoluments."
"Would you mind telling me your opinion on two points, Stabb? We can go on with that argument of yours afterward."
"Say on, Wilbraham."
"Is Lynborough in his right senses?"
"The point is doubtful."
"Are you in yours?"
Stabb reflected. "I am sane—but very highly specialized," was his conclusion.
Wilbraham wrinkled his brow. "All the same, right of way or no right of way is purely a legal question," he persisted.