“Did you send the communication yourself, Theodore?” asked Lady Sophia, with raised eyebrows. “Surely I recognize your incisive style.”
“My dear Sophia,” he cried, indignantly.
But he met her calm eyes; and her dry smile of amusement called up on his own lips a smile of confession. He looked at the paragraph thoughtfully.
“I think it reads very well. It’s brief, pointed, I might almost say epigrammatic; and it will certainly prevent misconception.”
“Also it will remind those in power that there is no more excellent candidate than the Vicar of St. Gregory’s.”
“My dear Sophia, I honestly don’t think any one would call me a vain man, but I cannot think myself unsuitable for the position. I’m sure you will be the last to deny that my parentage gives me certain claims upon my country.”
“Which I suppose you took care to point out to Lord Stonehenge last night?”
“On the contrary, I flatter myself I was tactful enough to discuss the most indifferent matters with him. We talked of grapes and the Manager of the Army and Navy Stores. I merely remarked how sad it was that poor Andover was dead.”
“Ha!”
“He agreed with me that it was very sad. For his years I thought him pleasant and intelligent. And then he talked about the General Election. I ventured to explain how important it was that the bishops should be imbued with Conservative principles.”