“Yes—that is—the Radical got in,” faltered Riddell, wondering why in common charity no one came to his rescue.
“And pray, Mr Riddell,” continued Miss Stringer, ruthlessly, “can you tell us the difference between a Liberal and a Radical? I have often longed to know—and you I have no doubt are an authority?”
Riddell at this point seriously meditated a forced retreat, and there is no saying what desperate act he might have committed had not the doctor providentially come to the rescue.
“The election altogether,” said he, laughing, “is rather a sore point in the school. I told you, my dear, about the manner in which Mr Cheeseman’s letter was received?”
“You did,” replied Mrs Patrick, who for some few moments had had her eyes upon Bloomfield, with a view to draw him out.
“Now do you really suppose, Mr Bloomfield, that the boys in your house, for instance, attached any true importance at all to the issue of the contest?”
Bloomfield, who had not been aware till this question was half over that it had been addressed to him, started and said—the most fatal observation he could have made—
“Eh? I beg your pardon, that is.”
“I inquired,” said Mrs Patrick, fixing him with her eye, “whether you really supposed that the boys in your house, for instance, attached any true importance at all to the issue of the contest?”
Bloomfield received this ponderous question meekly, and made a feeble effort to turn it over in his mind, and then dreading to hear it repeated once more, answered, “Oh, decidedly, ma’am.”