Catherine laughed heartily at the simile.
“Mr. Stenson is a glaring example,” she pointed out, “of those who do not know their own friends. Mr. Furley and I both believe that some time or other our views will appeal to the whole of the intellectual and unselfish world.”
“It’s a terrible job to get people to think,” Furley observed. “They are nearly always busy doing something else.”
“And these aristocrats!” Catherine continued, smiling at Julian. “You spoil them so in England, you know. Eton and Oxford are simply terrible in their narrowing effect upon your young men. It’s like putting your raw material into a sausage machine.”
“Miss Abbeway is very severe this morning,” Stenson declared, with unabated good humour. “She has been attacking my policy and my principles during the whole of our walk. Bad luck about your accident, Furley. I suppose we should have met whilst I am down here, if you hadn’t developed too adventurous a spirit.”
Furley glanced at Julian and smiled.
“I am not so sure about that, sir,” he said. “Your host doesn’t approve of me very much.”
“Do political prejudices exist so far from their home?” Mr. Stenson asked.
“I am afraid my father is rather old-fashioned,” Julian confessed.
“You are all old-fashioned—and stiff with prejudice,” Furley declared. “Even Orden,” he went on, turning to Catherine, “only tolerates me because we ate dinners off the same board when we were both making up our minds to be Lord High Chancellor.”