‘Cain and his brother Abel.’”
“I never knew before how much we have to reproach you with, Mr. Beaumont.”
“But if there had been no lawyers there would have been no—Archdeacons, shall we say?”
“Oh, then, we’ll forgive them for the sake of the Archdeacons. You won’t keep me sitting by myself in the drawing-room too long, papa,” and Miss St. Clair swept through the door which Beaumont opened. “I declare we women have always to leave the table by the time men find their tongues.”
“’Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than the observance,” quoted Edward, as he bowed before her.
“Fill up your glass, Wright,” said the Archdeacon. “That Burgundy’s all right, if you prefer it. But I’m for the vintage—what does our Lincolnshire bard sing?—
‘Whose father grape grew fat
In Lusitanian summers.’
Did you see the Standard this morning, Mr. Beaumont? I see the rumour grows more persistent that Gladstone may dissolve any day. He will go to the country, of course, on the Extension of the Franchise?”
“And Parish Councils,” added Beaumont.