"Your ladyship could not be otherwise."
"So be it," said Sir Thomas. "Anything for a quiet life. But I'll be hanged if I ever knew before that I had such a lot of ideas."
"That is just what I have said all along, my dear. If you had never succeeded in getting into Parliament, what would have become of the splendid abilities, of the choice gifts of intellect, with which Nature has so liberally endowed you? They would simply have been wasted, and your country would have been so much the poorer by the loss of them."
"That is all very fine, your ladyship; but as for my splendid abilities--fudge! My abilities lie among my turnips and short-horns, and not in speechifying to a lot of fellows who laugh at me the moment my back is turned."
"The modesty of real talent, Mr. Pomeroy."
"Just so, madam."
"I have not been your wife all these years, Sir Thomas, without being aware that you were born to be a landmark in your country's history."
"Heaven forbid! Why not make a milestone of me at once?"
Sir Thomas sighed deeply, jingled the change in his pocket, and looked out of the window. Presently he began to whistle under his breath.
Her ladyship folded and addressed a note with slow, mechanical precision. Turning to her husband, she said--