“Oh, I think he’s a perfect character!” said Lucy, with pretty enthusiasm.
“No; there I can’t agree with you,” said Stephen, shaking his head with sarcastic gravity.
“Now, what fault can you point out in him?”
“He’s an Anglican.”
“Well, those are the right views, I think,” said Lucy, gravely.
“That settles the question in the abstract,” said Stephen, “but not from a parliamentary point of view. He has set the Dissenters and the Church people by the ears; and a rising senator like myself, of whose services the country is very much in need, will find it inconvenient when he puts up for the honour of representing St Ogg’s in Parliament.”
“Do you really think of that?” said Lucy, her eyes brightening with a proud pleasure that made her neglect the argumentative interests of Anglicanism.
“Decidedly, whenever old Mr Leyburn’s public spirit and gout induce him to give way. My father’s heart is set on it; and gifts like mine, you know”—here Stephen drew himself up, and rubbed his large white hands over his hair with playful self-admiration—“gifts like mine involve great responsibilities. Don’t you think so, Miss Tulliver?”
“Yes,” said Maggie, smiling, but not looking up; “so much fluency and self-possession should not be wasted entirely on private occasions.”
“Ah, I see how much penetration you have,” said Stephen. “You have discovered already that I am talkative and impudent. Now superficial people never discern that, owing to my manner, I suppose.”