“I think you are odiously ungrateful, Jim,” she said. “I have got them to take Grote for seven years at a really unheard-of price, and all I get in return is this.”
Jim opened his pale weak eyes very wide.
“What have I done?” he said. “I have only agreed with you about their kindness, and asked your opinion about their breeding.”
“You are sarcastic and backbiting,” said his mother.
“Only as long as you talk such dreadful nonsense, darling mother,” he said. “You don’t indulge in rhapsodies about the honesty of your housemaid. Honesty in a housemaid is a far finer quality than in a millionaire, because millionaires are not tempted to be dishonest, whereas poor people like housemaids or you and me are. Really, I only wanted to have a pleasant little chat about the Osbornes, only you will make it serious, serious and insincere. Let’s be natural. I’ll begin.”
He took one of his mother’s crisp hot rolls, and buttered it heavily.
“I find Mr. and Mrs. O. quite delightful,” he said, “and should have told you so long ago if you had only been frank. I do really. There isn’t one particle of humbug about them, and they have the perfect ease and naturalness of good breeding.”
Lady Austell tossed her head.
“That word again,” she said. “You seem to judge everybody by the standard of a certain superficial veneer, which you call breeding.”
“I know. One can’t help it. I grant you that lots of well-bred people are rude and greedy, but there is a certain way of being rude and greedy which is all right. I’m greedy, so was the cerebral grandpapa, only he was a gentleman and so am I. I’m rude: I don’t get up when you come into the room and open the door for you, and shut the window. Claude—brother Claude—does all these things, and yet he’s a cad.”