“Deliberate falsehood! you impertinent puppy!”
“Puppy!” repeated Kenelm, not indignantly but musingly,—“puppy! a well-bred puppy takes after its parents.”
Sir Peter burst out laughing.
Lady Chillingly rose with dignity, shook her gown, unfolded her parasol, and stalked away speechless.
“Now, look you, Kenelm,” said Sir Peter, as soon as he had composed himself. “These quips and humours of yours are amusing enough to an eccentric man like myself, but they will not do for the world; and how at your age, and with the rare advantages you have had in an early introduction to the best intellectual society, under the guidance of a tutor acquainted with the new ideas which are to influence the conduct of statesmen, you could have made so silly a speech as you did yesterday, I cannot understand.”
“My dear father, allow me to assure you that the ideas I expressed are the new ideas most in vogue,—ideas expressed in still plainer, or, if you prefer the epithet, still sillier terms than I employed. You will find them instilled into the public mind by ‘The Londoner’ and by most intellectual journals of a liberal character.”
“Kenelm, Kenelm, such ideas would turn the world topsy-turvy.”
“New ideas always do tend to turn old ideas topsy-turvy. And the world, after all, is only an idea, which is turned topsy-turvy with every successive century.”
“You make me sick of the word ‘ideas.’ Leave off your metaphysics and study real life.”
“It is real life which I did study under Mr. Welby. He is the Archimandrite of Realism. It is sham life which you wish me to study. To oblige you I am willing to commence it. I dare say it is very pleasant. Real life is not; on the contrary—dull,” and Kenelm yawned again.