“Timorous men—yes! Is Reckage timorous?”
“You turned that most adroitly.”
“Thank you. Please sit between Lady Augusta and Aumerle at dinner.”
The dinner passed most agreeably. As little as possible was said about the Meeting; each talked to his or her neighbour, and although the separate dialogues may have been profound, the general effect produced was one of restful flippancy. Pole-Knox remarked over his fish that England had little to fear—unless through the corruption of her religion, whereupon Penborough declared that religion in the country was a School, not a Church. To this Lady Augusta rejoined that Rome's strength depended merely on Canterbury's weakness.
“Forcing a change is a very ticklish business,” said Aumerle, studying the menu, and regretting that his digestion was not all it had been.
Lord Garrow deplored the fact that Mr. Gladstone had embarked on a very vulgar and very false policy.
“But its vulgarity,” he sighed, “gives it a very easy reception.”
“He expects everything except docility,” said Penborough; “if the Opposition employ that means, they will embarrass all his calculations.”
Reckage, meanwhile, was confiding to Sara—
“I turned the horse round, rammed my spurs in, and put him at the rails again!”