"That doesn't matter," I said—"at least, not to George."
My hostess smiled.
"Still, even unimportant things are sometimes interesting."
"I think," said I, "that one Cabinet Minister in the family is quite enough."
"Ample," agreed Lady Bulstrode hastily; "but, after all, there are plenty of other openings in life for an energetic and honest young man."
"Yes," I said, "and I've found mine. So long as my nine hundred pounds a year lasts, and I can live on the workers, I'm quite content to go on tramping round the world—especially if editors will pay me for scribbling about it. I'm a born loafer, and I suppose when the world is properly organized I shall be locked up in a labour colony."
"At least you'll be in good company," said Lady Bulstrode, "though I think you make yourself out worse than you are," she added.
"No," I said. "Mine is a useless life. I've never had any illusions on the point. If I had, George would have shattered them long ago."
"George," she returned, "is too serious to live. I tried to get him up here for a few days, and he said things were so bad at Westminster that he couldn't be spared. Those were his actual words."
I nodded.