I had been speaking aside in a casual manner to my friend Amble, whose idea is that the Church is not represented with sufficient strength in the Commons, and who at once, as I perceived, grasped the notion of getting me to promote sundry measures connected with schools and clerical stipends, for his eyes dilated; he said: 'Well, if you do, I can put you up to several things,' and imparting the usual chorus of yesses to his own mind, he continued absently: 'Pollingray might be made strong on church rates. There is much to do. He has lived abroad and requires schooling in these things. We want a man. Yes, yes, yes. It's a good idea; a notion.'
My sister, however, was of another opinion. She did me the honour to take me aside.
'Gilbert, were you serious just now?'
'Quite serious. Is it not my characteristic?'
'Not on these occasions. I saw the idea come suddenly upon you. You were looking at Charles.'
'Continue: and at what was he looking?'
'He was looking at Alice Amble.'
'And the young lady?'
'She looked at you.'
I was here attacked by a singularly pertinacious fly, and came out of the contest with a laugh.