Lord Cheriton took lemon with his tea, also a rusk.
“Genius is a delightful thing,” said he, conversationally. “I have a genius for admiring it in others.”
“One feels sure you must have,” said Jim’s mother, most sympathetically. “I am trying to cultivate it also. As one is the mother of a highly gifted son, one feels that one ought.”
“Precisely,” said Cheriton. “And may one venture to remark that you will not find the undertaking difficult?”
“Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, in a tone of warning, “weigh your words carefully. My life is in danger of becoming a burden to me. As for you, señora,” said Jim, sternly, “once more, and with the most marked publicity, I deny with all the vehemence of which I am capable that I am a genius.”
“What, pray, is the use?” said his mother. “It is futile to deny it. Besides, even if you were not, it is not right to contradict your old mother, especially before company.”
“So true,” murmured the arbiter elegantiarum nibbling at his rusk.
Jim, however, was a young fellow with resources. He proceeded immediately to carry the war into the enemy’s country.
“I am afraid, Lord Cheriton,” said he, “that judgment is not my mother’s strong point. You see, she is not so mature as she might be.”
“I have observed it,” said Cheriton.