Julia did her best to feel convinced; but it was in a distinctly less ecstatic voice that she read her next extract.
“'Alcohol, riches, and starched linen are the moths and worms of society.' I suppose he means that they eat away its foundations?”
“On the contrary, he was an enthusiastic entomologist. He merely meant to imply that it isn't every one who can appreciate a glass of port and a clean shirt.”
“But he didn't appreciate those things himself!”
“No; poor fellow. He often wished he could, though.”
“Did he really?”
“Oh, you've no idea how tired he grew of flannel and ginger-beer! Many a time he's said to me, 'My boy, learn to take what's set before you, even at an alderman's table.' Ah, his was a generous creed, Miss Wallingford!”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” said Julia submissively.
His advantage in being able to claim an intimate personal knowledge of the late philosopher's tastes encouraged the Count greatly. Realizing that a nephew could not well be contradicted, he was emboldened to ask whether there were any more points on which his authority could be of assistance.
“Oh yes,” said she, “only—only somehow you seem to throw a different light on everything.”