“Foreigners, Fitzroy? Come, come, we can scarcely stigmatize Canadians as foreigners. What would become of the Imperial Idea?”
“I think the Imperial Idea will take a lot of living up to,” said Wedderburn, “when we come face to face with its practical expression. Personally I loathe Colonials except at the Earl’s Court Exhibition.”
“Ah, Wedderburn,” said the Warden, “you are luckily young enough to be able to be particular. I with increasing age begin to suffer from that terrible disease of age—toleration.”
“But the Warden is not so very old,” whispered Miss Crackanthorpe to Lonsdale and Michael.
“Oh, rather not,” Lonsdale murmured encouragingly.
“I think they’ll wake up Oxford,” announced Smithers; then, as everyone turned to hear what more he would say, Smithers seemed inclined to melt into silence, but with a sudden jerk of defiance, he hardened himself and became volubly opinionative.
“There’s no doubt,” he continued, “that these fellows will make the average undergrad look round him a bit.” As Smithers curtailed undergraduate to the convention of a lady-novelist, a shudder ran round the dinner party. Almost the butler instead of putting ice into the champagne might have slipped it down the backs of the guests.
“In fact, what ho, she bumps,” whispered Lonsdale. “Likewise pip-ip, and tootle-oo.”
“Anyway, he won’t be able to ignore them,” said Smithers.
“We hope not, indeed,” the Warden gravely wished. “What does Lonsdale think? Lord Cleveden wrote to me to say how deeply interested he was by the whole scheme—a most appreciative letter, and your father has had a great experience of colonial conditions.”