"Not at all."
"No more do I. I'm tired of being in leading-strings, and the long and short of it is that I mean to have my own way in this, at any rate."
"In this? Is this a matter of great importance, then? Horace, mind what you are after with the Blakes."
"You're a nice consistent sort of fellow," said Horace.
"Oh, you may call me what you like," Percival replied.
"Who introduced me to these people before they came to Fordborough? Who comes down to Brackenhill—the dullest hole, now there's no shooting—because it's Lottie Blake's birthday? Whose name is a sort of household word here—Percival this and Percival that? Percival without any Thorne to it, mind."
"I plead guilty. What then?"
"What then? Why, I wish you to remark that this is your example, while your precept is—"
"Take care what you are about with the Blakes. Yes, old fellow, you'd better leave my example alone, and stick to the precept. My wisdom takes that form, I admit." He spoke with more meaning than Horace perceived.
"Well, thanks for your advice," said the young man with a laugh. "Though I can't see any particular harm in my coming down to-day."