“I am, like you, a capitalist and landlord.”
“Which it seems to me you have no right to be, if you are in earnest,” struck in Chester, who had been watching the scene in silence by Sir Charles’s side.
“Which, as you say, I have undoubtedly no right to be,” said Trefusis, surveying him with interest; “but which I nevertheless cannot help being. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Chichester Erskine, author of a tragedy entitled ‘The Patriot Martyrs,’ dedicated with enthusiastic devotion to the Spirit of Liberty and half a dozen famous upholders of that principle, and denouncing in forcible language the tyranny of the late Tsar of Russia, Bomba of Naples, and Napoleon the Third?”
“Yes, sir,” said Erskine, reddening; for he felt that this description might make his drama seem ridiculous to those present who had not read it.
“Then,” said Trefusis, extending his hand—Erskine at first thought for a hearty shake—“give me half-a-crown towards the cost of our expedition here to-day to assert the right of the people to tread the soil we are standing upon.”
“You shall do nothing of the sort, Chester,” cried Lady Brandon. “I never heard of such a thing in my life! Do you pay us for the wall and fence your people have broken, Mr. Smilash; that would be more to the purpose.”
“If I could find a thousand men as practical as you, Lady Brandon, I might accomplish the next great revolution before the end of this season.” He looked at her for a moment curiously, as if trying to remember; and then added inconsequently: “How are your friends? There was a Miss—Miss—I am afraid I have forgotten all the names except your own.”
“Gertrude Lindsay is staying with us. Do you remember her?”
“I think—no, I am afraid I do not. Let me see. Was she a haughty young lady?”
“Yes,” said Lady Brandon eagerly, forgetting the wall and fence. “But who do you think is coming next Thursday? I met her accidentally the last time I was in town. She’s not a bit changed. You can’t forget her, so don’t pretend to be puzzled.”