“Oh dear no, certainly; but I dare say the Countess of Smatterton would not recommend anything improper.”
“I don’t know what may be Lady Smatterton’s notions of propriety, but I shall take care that my daughter does not adopt that or any other profession.”
While they were talking, the arrival of Nick Muggins with the letter-bag reminded Mr Primrose that it might be desirable to apprize Penelope of his being in England and of his intention of immediately seeing her. He therefore dispatched a note to his daughter, under cover to the Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton, and thus he made wise provision against further accidents preventing their meeting.
As Mr Primrose had experienced the inconvenience of one overturn by the stage-coach, he determined not to trust himself again so soon to the same mode of conveyance; and as he intended to travel post, and as he was not about to set out immediately, he amused himself with strolling about the village to admire its beauties; for everybody said that Smatterton was a very pretty village. In the month of December English scenery seldom appears to great advantage; and while Mr Primrose was looking for, rather than at, the beauties of Smatterton, who should he meet but the very identical Mr Kipperson with whom he had travelled in the stage-coach? The parties recognized each other immediately, and they presently entered into chat. Mr Kipperson expressed great concern for the accident, but was exceedingly rejoiced to find that his fellow-traveller was not seriously hurt. “For indeed, sir,” said he, “I almost thought that you were killed.”
“So did I,” replied Mr Primrose: “but what can be the use of travelling at that unreasonably rapid rate? When I was in England, sixteen years ago, the stage-coaches used to go at a very reasonable and moderate pace.”
“Yes, yes, I remember it,” said Mr Kipperson; “but we should never be able to get on with business were it not for this quick travelling. I will tell you, sir, an instance of its utility: the other day I received a letter from my friend the Earl of Smatterton, informing me of an important debate which was just coming on, and it was a matter of infinite moment that I should be in town in order to attend some meetings that were to be held, and to give my opinion concerning some clauses which were likely to be introduced greatly affecting the agricultural interest. I received the letter just in time to take advantage of the coach, and, by means of quick travelling, I arrived in town time enough to give my views of the subject, and to prevent the passing of some most destructive measures.”
“You are a member of parliament, I presume?” said Mr Primrose.
“No, sir,” said Mr Kipperson, with that sort of air that seemed to indicate that he did not at all desire that honor, and that he was a person of greater importance; “but now and then parliament is pleased to do me the honor of consulting me on some topics connected with the interests of agriculture.”
Though Mr Primrose was what in ordinary language is called an independent man, yet he could not but feel reverence for greatness; and finding that the gentleman with whom he was conversing was a person of some consequence, he was desirous of knowing who it was. This desire was but slightly hinted, and immediately the great agricultural luminary gratified Mr Primrose’s laudable thirst after knowledge by saying: “My name, sir, is Kipperson. Kipperson, sir, of Smatterton.”
It was very excusable that Mr Primrose, who had been so many years out of England, should not be familiar with the name, and should not be aware that he was addressing the celebrated agriculturist, Kipperson of Smatterton. Mr Kipperson himself was so modest a man that he did not choose to say that he was the celebrated one of that name, but he took especial care to let it be understood indirectly and circuitously that he was a person of some importance in the world.