"Did you—you say you had come yesterday?"
"No—the night before."
"You and the great Yorick—isn't that what his friend Miss Foster calls him?—haven't been talking of Graubosch all that time?"
"Fossett. Oh dear no! We have been talking chiefly of...." A pause. "... Well!—of our affairs."
"Meaning yours and mine. Eh bien!—and what says Sir Oracle?... No, no!—no irreverence, indeed!... oh no!—you said nothing. But you have such a mobile countenance." A shade of protest had been detectable, presumably, in Challis's face, and he had disclaimed it.
"Meaning your affairs and mine," said he, with only a pooh-pooh smile for the sub-colloquy. "Sir Oracle is in opposition."
"I knew he would be—dear good man! You'll tell me I'm sneering, I know—but I'm not—if I say...."
"What?"
"That his is such a beautiful unworldly character. I can tell you exactly what he said to you."
"Then, dearest, I needn't tell you. Fire away!"