"Well?" said he. "Am I to stay here all night?"
"That's just what you'd better do. You won't get any good out of that lot; and so I tell you. You'll lose your money and get into nasty drinking ways: don't you go there any more."
"Upon my word, Lydia, you preach as well as old Clifton does."
"And do you just as much good, I dare say."
"Just as much. You've hit it exactly."
"I thought so. You aren't the sort to take any heed. One may preach and preach—"
"How well you understand me! No, as you say, I am not the sort to get any good from preaching. You are quite right, Lydia: my character requires kindness, sympathy and a latch-key—especially requires a latch-key."
"Especially requires a fiddlestick!" said Lydia; and, disregarding his smiling "Not at all," she went on in an injured tone: "There's ma worrying over accounts, and likely to worry for the next hour. How am I to get a key from under her very nose?"
Lisle seemed to reflect: "Old Fordham doesn't have one, I suppose."
"Gracious! No, not he! If you gave him one he'd drop it as if it was red hot. He thinks they're wicked."