“Suspect! But since you only suspect,” said Beauclerc, “we English do not condemn on suspicion, unheard, unseen.”
“Not unheard,” said the general, “I have heard enough of him.”
“From the reports of his enemies,” said Beauclerc.
“I do not usually form my judgment,” replied the general, “from reports either of friends or enemies; I have not the honour of knowing any of Lord Beltravers’ enemies.”
“Enemies of Lord Beltravers!” exclaimed Lady Davenant. “What right as he to enemies as if he were a great man?—a person of whom nobody ever heard, setting up to have enemies! But now-a-days, these candidates for fame, these would-be celebrated, set up their enemies as they would their equipages, on credit—then, by an easy process of logic, make out the syllogism thus:—Every great man has enemies, therefore, every man who has enemies must be great—hey, Beauclerc?”
Beauclerc vouchsafed only a faint, absent smile, and, turning to his guardian, asked—“Since Lord Beltravers was not to be allowed the honours of enemies, or the benefit of pleading prejudice, on what did the general form his judgment?”
“From his own words.”
“Stay judgment, my dear general,” cried Beauclerc; “words repeated! by whom?”
“Repeated by no one—heard from himself, by myself.”
“Yourself! I was not aware you had ever met;—when? where?” Beauclerc started forward on his chair, and listened eagerly for the answer.