Lady Eleanor laughed. "Don't you feel like this when I talk about politics?"
"Far from it. I know absolutely nothing about them myself; and when I hear you speaking familiarly—nay, even flippantly—of Whips and Under Secretaries and similar ruling powers, I regard you with awe as a mighty sibyl juggling with the mysterious forces of the Unknown."
"I see; it must sound rather impressive."
"Impressive is not the word—it sounds simply tremendous. Calling Under Secretaries by their Christian names seems to me like patting a thunderstorm or playing with an earthquake; yet I have often heard you do it without an apparent qualm. It is marvellous!"
Lady Eleanor was very proud of what she considered her wire-pulling powers; therefore she enjoyed the Academician's persiflage. It was in cases like this that Madderley showed himself such a clever man; he always said disagreeable things; but he generally took care that they were the sort of disagreeable things that people wanted him to say. Women liked Mr. Madderley because, they said, he did not flatter them; they never found out that is was because he flattered them that they liked him so much.
"When I talk about art, however, you regard me as 'an unlessoned girl,' I suppose," suggested her ladyship.
"That certainly is my idea, but, had you given me time, I would have decked its crudeness with some flowers of speech."
"I am so glad that I did not give you time, then. It would be insufferable if you began to be pleasant! Your raison d'être would be gone if you left off telling disagreeable truths, and we should all leave off liking you."
The artist smiled. "It is very kind of you to say that, Lady Eleanor; but don't you think that the men who tell palatable fibs are really the popular men?"
"No, I don't," Lady Eleanor hastened to assure him; "now you are immensely popular—you must know that you are; and yet you always say straight out whatever you think, and never mind how disagreeable it is. It is this truthfulness that makes us all admire and trust you."