“I’ll tell Lord Stonehenge that an eighteen-hole course is a sine qua non of my elevation to the Episcopacy,” retorted the Canon, ironically.
Between Lord Spratte and his sister on the one hand and Theodore on the other, was an unceasing duel, in which the parson fought for the respect due to his place and dignity, while the others were determined to suffer no nonsense. They attacked his pretension with flouting and battered his pomposity with ridicule. To anything in the nature of rhodomontade they were merciless, and in their presence he found it needful to observe a certain measure. He knew that no society was august enough to abash them into silence, and so took care not to expose himself under very public circumstances to the irony of the one or to the brutal mocking of the other. But the struggle was not altogether unpleasant. He could hit back with a good deal of vigour, and never hesitated to make plain statements in plain language. His position gave him the advantage that he could marshal on his side the forces of morality and religion; and when they had dealt so good a blow that he could not conceal his discomfiture, he was able to regain his self-esteem by calling them blasphemous or vulgar.
The Canon turned to his daughter with an affectionate smile.
“And what have you been doing this morning, Winnie?”
“I went to see the model dwellings that Mr. Railing is interested in.”
“By Jove, you’re not goin’ in for district visitin’, Winnie?” cried her uncle, putting up his eye-glass. “I hope you won’t catch anything.”
Winnie blushed a little under his stare.
“The condition of the poor is awfully bad. I think one ought to do something.”
“Who is Mr. Railing?” inquired Lionel. “One of the Worcestershire Railings?”
“No, just a common or garden Railing,” said the Canon.