“The Pierian Spring, Sir Geoffrey.”
“Just so. A little knowledge, Ben, is a dangerous thing, what?”
Lady Pomfret made another observation.
“Ben has a great deal of knowledge, Geoffrey, He has saved you buying an Encyclopædia Britannica.”
Again Sir Geoffrey frowned, wondering what my lady was “at.” Why these tactless interruptions? He admonished her quietly:
“Please, my dear, please! Ben’s knowledge of my affairs has been dangerous. Proof? It has brought us to this abominable pass. As I smoked my cigar on the terrace just now——Where is it?” He picked it up. “Confound it! It’s gone out.” He flung it aside. “Where was I? Yes, yes; as I smoked my cigar I thought of Cardinal Wolsey, poor fellow, and bluff King Hal—bless him! Well, well, we mustn’t let our thoughts wander. There is an Eastern proverb: ‘As the sands of the desert are—are——’”
Fishpingle finished the quotation:
“‘As the sands of the desert are to the weary traveller, so is overmuch speech to him who loveth silence.’”
“Quite! Quite! Now, Ben, I am prepared to meet you half-way. Prudence, all said and done, is your kinswoman not mine. Strongly as I feel about first cousins marrying, I have made up my mind to abide by what I wrote. For her ladyship’s sake, I consent to reinstate Prudence and Alfred in my establishment, and to sanction a marriage——”
“Thank you, Sir Geoffrey.”