"Weather never frightens me, your Grace. I always have thick boots;—I am very particular about that;—and cork soles."
"Cork soles are admirable."
"I think I owe my life to cork soles," said Lady Rosina enthusiastically. "There is a man named Sprout in Silverbridge who makes them. Did your Grace ever try him for boots?"
"I don't think I ever did," said the Prime Minister.
"Then you had better. He's very good and very cheap too. Those London tradesmen never think they can charge you enough. I find I can wear Sprout's boots the whole winter through and then have them resoled. I don't suppose you ever think of such things?"
"I like to have my feet dry."
"I have got to calculate what they cost." They then passed Major Pountney, who was coming and going between the stables and the house, and who took off his hat and who saluted the host and his companion with perhaps more flowing courtesy than was necessary. "I never have found out what that gentleman's name is yet," said Lady Rosina.
"Pountney, I think. I believe they call him Major Pountney."
"Oh, Pountney! There are Pountneys in Leicestershire. Perhaps he is one of them?"
"I don't know where he comes from," said the Duke,—"nor, to tell the truth, where he goes to." Lady Rosina looked up at him with an interested air. "He seems to be one of those idle men who get into people's houses heaven knows why, and never do anything."