"Yes—isn't it bad luck?"
"William!"
"For her, I mean. Because, you know—I can't live up to it. I know it's her doing—bless her!—that old Parham's going to give me this thing. And it's a perfect scandal!"
"What nonsense, William!"
"It is!" he maintained, springing up and standing before her, with his hands in his pockets. "They're going to offer me the Under-Secretaryship for Foreign Affairs, and I shall take it, I suppose, and be thankful. And do you know"—he dropped out the words with emphasis—"that I don't know a word of German—and I can't talk to a Frenchman for half an hour without disgracing myself. There—that's how we're governed!"
He stood staring at her with his bright large eyes—amused, yet strangely detached—as though he had very little to do with what he was talking about.
Mary Lyster met his look in some bewilderment, conscious all the time that his neighborhood was very agreeable and stirring.
"But every one says—you speak so well on foreign subjects."
"Well, any fool can get up a Blue Book. Only—luckily for me—all the fools don't. That's how I've scored sometimes. Oh! I don't deny that—I've scored!" He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, his whole tall frame vibrant, as it seemed to her, with will and good-humor.
"And you'll score again," she said, smiling. "You've got a wonderful opportunity, William. That's what the Bishop says."