“Nothing!” answered Lord Spratte for the third time. “And what’s more, I’m hanged if I want to.”
Miss Railing sprang to her feet, waving her umbrella as though herself about to lead an attack on the Houses of Parliament.
“And yet you are a member of the Upper Chamber. Just because you’re a lord, you have power to legislate over millions of people with ten times more knowledge, more ability, and more education than yourself.”
“Capital! Capital!” cried Canon Spratte, vastly amused. “You rub it in. A good straight talking-to is just what he wants!”
“And how do you spend your time, I should like to know. Do you study the questions of the hour? Do you attempt to fit yourself for the task entrusted to you by the anachronism of a past age?”
“I wish you’d put that umbrella down,” answered Lord Spratte. “It makes me quite nervous.”
Miss Railing angrily threw that instrument of menace on a chair.
“I’ll be bound you spend your days in every form of degrading pursuit. At race-meetings, and billiards, and gambling.”
“Capital! Capital!” cried the Canon.
Then Ponsonby returned bearing on a silver tray, engraved magnificently with the arms and supporters of the Sprattes, a liqueur bottle.