“You suggest a perilous way to the dull man of becoming momentarily interesting.”
“Of course I know the phrase which, in spite of being the composition of a French philosopher, is not altogether devoid of truth—yes, ‘Qui parle d’amour fait l’amour’’.”
“Only that love is born, not made.”
“Great heavens! have you learned that—that, with your father’s letter next your heart?”
Harold laughed.
“Do you fancy that I have forgotten your conversation in the boat yesterday?” said he. “Heaven on one side and the Lord Chancellor on the other.”
“And you have come to the conclusion that you are on the side of heaven? You are in a perilous way.”
“Your logic is a trifle shaky, friend. Besides, you have no right to assume that I am on the side of heaven.”
“There is a suggestion of indignation in your voice that gives me hope that you are not in so evil a case as I may have suspected. Do you think that another afternoon in the boat—”
“Would make me on the side of the Lord Chancellor? I doubt it. But that is not equivalent to saying that I doubt the excellence of your advice.”