"He means well."
"If there is one class of people I hate more than another it is that Pharisaic lot who mean well. They make all the mischief."
"With the best intentions," put in Brendon, taking some wine.
"Best intentions are fatal. How many plans have come to naught because of best intentions? Take some of that port."
"No more, thank you, sir."
"I insist. There are walnuts."
"I don't mind the nuts, but the port----" George shook his head.
Derrington, at his own table, was too polite to press the matter, but he scored up another victory to Brendon's strong will. More, he passed off the matter with a laugh. "You have the hereditary gout, I see, George, when you are afraid of a glass of port."
"It's not that, sir, but I drink very little. I work on milk."
"Bah!" Derrington made a wry face. "Then your work----"