“Ah, but money could not buy those—at least not genuine, sterling qualities of that kind, Lady Martlett,” said the doctor, as they moved towards the end of the garden.
“So it seems, Doctor Scales.”
“There are some people who even have the impertinence to look down upon the rich who do not carry their honours with graceful humility.”
“How dares he speak to me like this!” thought Lady Martlett; “but I’ll humble him yet.”
“Let me see,” she replied coolly; “what do you cull that class of person—a radical, is it not?”
“Yes; I suppose that is the term.”
“And I understand that there are radicals of all kinds: in politics; in those who pass judgment on social behaviour; and even in medicine.”
“That’s a clever thrust,” thought the doctor.—“Just so, Lady Martlett; and I am one of the radicals in medicine.”
“Of course, then, not in social matters, Doctor Scales?”
“Will your Ladyship deign to notice the tints upon these peaches?” said the doctor evasively.—“Here is one,” he said, lowering his voice, “that seems as if it had been mocking you, when your cheek is flushed with the exercise of riding, and you imperiously command the first poor wretch who passes your way to open the gate.”