“Are you? Why?”
“Is not Mr. Hugo, now, without offence, a rather passionate, self-willed young gentleman?”
“Very, I should say.”
“Balance and instability—there you are.”
“You mean they are not at all alike. I should have thought that was the best reason in the world for their chumming. One of oneself is quite enough for most people. Fancy the horror of being a Siamese twin!”
“Is that why you and Sir Francis are on such good terms—because there is nothing in common between you?”
“Isn’t there? What, for instance.”
“He presents himself to me, from what little I have seen and heard of him, as a rather gentle, spiritual young man, with a taste for books and the fine arts, and a preference in sport, if any, for angling. In aere piscari.”
“What does that mean?”
“I should fancy him a fisherman, by choice, of ideas rather than of streams.”