"It always was such a grind."
"Train down from Paddington every day at half-past ten."
"That's all very well if you happen to be up. Well, Silverbridge, how's the Prime Minister?"
"How is he, Tifto?" asked the noble partner.
"I don't think there's a man in England just at present enjoying a very much better state of health," said the Major pleasantly.
"Safe to run?" asked Dolly.
"Safe to run! Why shouldn't he be safe to run?"
"I mean sure to start."
"I think we mean him to start, don't we, Silverbridge?" said the Major.
There was something perhaps in the tone in which the last remark was made which jarred a little against the young lord's dignity. At any rate he got up and declared his purpose of going to the opera. He should look in, he said, and hear a song from Mdlle Stuffa. Mdlle Stuffa was the nightingale of the season, and Lord Silverbridge, when he had nothing else to do, would sometimes think that he was fond of music. Soon after he was gone Major Tifto had some whisky-and-water, lit his third cigar, and began to feel the glory of belonging to the Beargarden. With Lord Silverbridge, to whom it was essentially necessary that he should make himself agreeable at all times, he was somewhat overweighted as it were. Though he attempted an easy familiarity, he was a little afraid of Lord Silverbridge. With Dolly Longstaff he felt that he might be comfortable,—not, perhaps, understanding that gentleman's character. With Lord Nidderdale he had previously been acquainted, and had found him to be good-natured. So, as he sipped his whisky, he became confidential and comfortable.