“Yes, I know,” replied the peer, with much scorn. “He fusses about, and he’s a County Councillor, and he speaks at Church Congresses.”
“It’s greatly to his credit that he’s a steadfast champion of the Church of England.”
“I daresay. All I know is that if there were a hundred fellows in the House of Lords as enthusiastic as he is, the House of Lords would tumble down. The British public leaves us there as long as we don’t interfere with it, but if ever we put on airs and try to stand on our hind legs, the British public will just take us by the scruff of the neck and out we shall go. If we all took ourselves in earnest like Wroxham, we should just get the hoof, brother Theodore.”
“And do you ever go to the House of Lords, which you support by your sense of ridicule?” asked Mrs. Fitzherbert, her lips trembling into laughter.
“Certainly; I was there the other day.”
“Dear me!”
“Oh, it was quite accidental,” he hastened to explain, apologetically. “I had to go to Westminster on business.”
“On business!” repeated the Canon, full of contempt.
“Yes, to see a terrier that a man wanted to sell. Well, I had a new topper and no umbrella, an’ of course it began to rain. ‘By Jove,’ I said, ‘I’m hanged if I won’t go and legislate for ten minutes.’ I saw it was only a shower. Well, I walked in and somebody asked who the dickens I was. Upon my word, I was almost ashamed to say; I look too bogus, Theodore.”
“It’s not the name that makes the man,” said the Canon, sententiously. “A rose by any other appellation would smell as sweet.”