"But there are one or two conditions. I wanted to speak with you about them."
"Oh," said Mrs. Verulam, going to a drawer and taking out an envelope. "Here is mamma's signature to the praise of the buns. There was nothing else, was there?"
"Thank you very much," said Mr. Rodney, taking it carefully. "It will be all right. But I must tell you"—he lowered his voice impressively—"that Mr. Lite is a man of singularly tenacious affections."
"Indeed!"
"I scarcely knew how tenacious until—well, until we were wandering among the steel-knife exhibits last night after dinner."
Mrs. Verulam involuntarily shuddered.
"For it was only then that he was moved fully to unbosom himself to me, fully to reveal the depths of a peculiar—I may say a very peculiar character."
Mr. Rodney paused, as if to choose his words, and then resumed:
"I gathered then that the soul of Mr. Lite is the—the residence of two masterful passions, the one a keen desire to obtain the very best names in England as signatures in praise of his—er—his wares, the other an affection amounting—yes, really, I may say amounting almost to fury, for what he calls 'the home.' Now, as you may suppose, on an occasion such as that of last evening, these two extraordinary passions found themselves in opposition—in acute opposition."
"How terrible!"