“We sent our felons to Australia,” said Supplehouse, “and they began the work for us. And as to America, we exterminated the people instead of civilizing them.”
“We did not exterminate the inhabitants of India,” said Harold Smith, angrily.
“Nor have we attempted to Christianize them, as the bishop so properly wishes to do with your islanders.”
“Supplehouse, you are not fair,” said Mr. Sowerby, “neither to Harold Smith nor to us;—you are making him rehearse his lecture, which is bad for him; and making us hear the rehearsal, which is bad for us.”
“Supplehouse belongs to a clique which monopolizes the wisdom of England,” said Harold Smith; “or, at any rate, thinks that it does. But the worst of them is that they are given to talk leading articles.”
“Better that, than talk articles which are not leading,” said Mr. Supplehouse. “Some first-class official men do that.”
“Shall I meet you at the duke’s next week, Mr. Robarts?” said the bishop to him, soon after they had gone into the drawing-room.
Meet him at the duke’s!—the established enemy of Barsetshire mankind, as Lady Lufton regarded his grace! No idea of going to the duke’s had ever entered our hero’s mind; nor had he been aware that the duke was about to entertain any one.
“No, my lord; I think not. Indeed, I have no acquaintance with his grace.”
“Oh—ah! I did not know. Because Mr. Sowerby is going; and so are the Harold Smiths, and, I think, Mr. Supplehouse. An excellent man is the duke;—that is, as regards all the county interests,” added the bishop, remembering that the moral character of his bachelor grace was not the very best in the world.