“Of course I've never seen the fellow, but it's clear enough he's a humbug.”
“Clear enough is just what it isn't,” I replied: “if it only were!” That ejaculation on my part must have been the beginning of what was to be later a long ache for final frivolous rest. Gravener was profound enough to remark after a moment that in the first place he couldn't be anything but a Dissenter, and when I answered that the very note of his fascination was his extraordinary speculative breadth he retorted that there was no cad like your cultivated cad and that I might depend upon discovering (since I had had the levity not already to have inquired), that my shining light proceeded, a generation back, from a Methodist cheesemonger. I confess I was struck with his insistence, and I said, after reflection: “It may be—I admit it may be; but why on earth are you so sure?”—asking the question mainly to lay him the trap of saying that it was because the poor man didn't dress for dinner. He took an instant to dodge my trap and come blandly out the other side.
“Because the Kent Mulvilles have invented him. They've an infallible hand for frauds. All their geese are swans. They were born to be duped, they like it, they cry for it, they don't know anything from anything, and they disgust one (luckily perhaps!) with Christian charity.” His intensity was doubtless an accident, but it might have been a strange foreknowledge. I forget what protest I dropped; it was at any rate something which led him to go on after a moment: “I only ask one thing—it's perfectly simple. Is a man, in a given case, a real gentleman?”
“A real gentleman, my dear fellow—that's so soon said!”
“Not so soon when he isn't! If they've got hold of one this time he must be a great rascal!”
“I might feel injured,” I answered, “if I didn't reflect that they don't rave about me.”
“Don't be too sure! I'll grant that he's a gentleman,” Gravener presently added, “if you'll admit that he's a scamp.”
“I don't know which to admire most, your logic or your benevolence.”
My friend coloured at this, but he didn't change the subject. “Where did they pick him up?”
“I think they were struck with something he had published.”