The Biologist looked as if he would like to kick him, but lacked the physical courage.
‘I’ve been telling the Prince he’s too modest,’ said Lady Wyse.
‘P’r’aps you didn’t lead him on enough,’ suggested the diplomat; at which the Biologist vented a sickly grin, and Lady Wyse hit him very hard with her fan.
‘Too modest about himself, I was going to say, if I had a chance of ending my sentences with all you wags about. A man of his talents oughtn’t to be contented to loaf about doing nothing. He might be anything with his intellect—a great writer, or a scientist, or a diplomat, or a financier.’
‘Or a tinker or a tailor, or a soldier or a sailor,’ said the Biologist.
‘Do you think that I’m joking, you idiot?’ said Lady Wyse, emitting a cold shaft of light that went to his backbone.
‘No, of course not, dear Lady Wyse! I was only thinking....’
‘Soldier or sailor—confound you, sir!’ said the little General fiercely. ‘There’s no need to drag in the services.’
‘No, no,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘we were talking of intellect.’
‘One isn’t a scientist by wishing it,’ said the Biologist. ‘One has to go through the mill. Besides....’