“I found him on a chair in the Park, and I brought him here to keep him out of ,” she said, shaking hands with Lady Sophia.
“I’ve reached an age when I can only get into mischief with an infinite deal of trouble,” answered Lord Spratte, “and when I’ve succeeded, I find the game was hardly worth the candle.”
“I’ve not seen you since Theodore turned you out of the house—somewhat unceremoniously,” laughed Lady Sophia; “I hope you bear no .”
“Not in the least; Theodore’s cook is far too good.”
They both talked very before Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom they liked equally; but the Canon would not perhaps have been much pleased if he knew how they discussed him in her presence. Lord Spratte asked whether there was any news of the bishopric.
“Nothing has been heard yet, but Theodore is convinced he’ll get it,” replied Lady Sophia.
“He’ll be quite if he does.”
“Quite!” she agreed. “I shall shave my head and go into a convent.”
“You laugh at the Canon and you tease him, but he’s a clever man for all that,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Of course he’s rather vain and , but not very much more than most men. I have an idea that he’ll make a first-rate .”
“Theodore?”
Lady Sophia considered the matter for a moment.
“It really hadn’t occurred to me, but I daresay you’re right,” she said. “Of course he’s not a saint, but one doesn’t want to be too . Curates may be saintly, and it’s very proper that they should; but it’s equally proper of their betters to leave them hidden away in obscure parishes where their cannot be a stumbling-block to the faithful. The religion of a man who belongs to the Church of England is closely connected with consols, and he looks with grave distrust on the parson who tells him seriously to lay up treasure in heaven.”
“A bishop must be a man who can wear his gaiters with dignity,” smiled Mrs, Fitzherbert.
“But has Theodore the legs?”
“If not, he can pad,” replied Lady Sophia. “Most of them do, and those that don’t certainly should. A bishop must evidently be a man who can wear lawn sleeves without feeling dressed up. He’s a Prince of the Church, and he should carry himself becomingly. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but few of them can help purring with gratification when they hear themselves addressed by as, my lord. Theodore at least will carry his honours with a dash. We may be ....”
“We certainly are, Sophia,” cried Lord Spratte.
“But Theodore is clever enough to forget it. He honestly feels that his ancestors fought in coats-of-mail at Agincourt and Crecy.”
“Heaven save me from the criticism of relations,” exclaimed Mrs. Fitzherbert. “They’re like a bad looking-glass which gives you an atrocious and a nose.”
“We shall have to eat the dust, Sophia,” muttered Lord Spratte.
“The whole diocese will have to eat the dust,” she answered, smiling. “Theodore will stand no nonsense from his clergy; they’ll have to do as he tells them or there’ll be ructions. Theodore is not soft-handed, and he’ll get his own way by hook or by . You’ll see, in five years it’ll be the best-managed bishopric in England, and an invitation to dinner at the Palace will be considered by every one a sufficient reward for the labours of Hercules.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert laughed, and at that moment the subject of the conversation appeared. He greeted Mrs. Fitzherbert with extreme cordiality, but to his brother, not forgetful of the terms upon which they had parted, he held out a very hand.
“I must congratulate you on Winnie’s engagement,” said Lord Spratte.
Canon Spratte looked at him coolly and passed his handsome hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry to see that your grows more marked every day, Thomas. It seems that increasing years bring you no sense of your responsibilities. I used to hope that your was due chiefly to the of youth.”
“It shows what a charmin’ character I have to stand bein’ by my younger brother,” murmured Lord Spratte, calmly. He turned to Mrs. Fitzherbert. “I hate far more the relations who think it their duty to say unpleasant things to your very face.”
“You forget that it’s my name as well as yours that you drag through the dust.”
“The name of Spratte?”
“It was held by the late Lord of England,” retorted the Canon, icily.
“Oh, Theodore, don’t bring him in again. I’m just about sick of him. It’s been the curse of my life to be the son of an man. After all it was a beastly job that they stuck him on that silly Woolsack.”
“Have you never heard the saying: ‘De mortuis nisi bonum’?”
“That means: don’t pull an old ’s leg when he’s kicked the bucket,” explained Lord Spratte to the two ladies.
The Canon his shoulders.
“You have no sense of decorum, no seemliness, no dignity.”
“Good heavens, what can you expect? I don’t feel important enough to strike attitudes. I’m just Tommy Tiddler, and I can’t forget it. I might have done something if I’d had any name but Spratte. If it had been just Sprat it would have been vulgar, but those two last letters make it as well. And that’s what our honours are—vulgar and pretentious! I can’t make out why the old buffer stuck to that beastly monosyllable.”
“I always wish we could change with our butler, Theodore,” said Lady Sophia. “Don’t you think it’s very hard that he should be called Ponsonby, and we—Spratte?”
“I’m not ashamed of it,” said the Canon.
“You’re ashamed of nothing, Theodore,” retorted his brother. “Now, I’m different; I’m a modest sort of chap, and I can’t stand all these gewgaws. I don’t want the silly title with its coat-of-arms, and it’s bogus pedigree. And those ridiculous ermine robes! The very thought of them makes my flesh creep. I should have been right enough if I’d just been plain Tom Sprat. I might have made a fairly good horse-dealer, and if I hadn’t brains enough for that I could always have gone into Parliament. I’d have been a capital First Lord of the Admiralty, because I can’t tell a man-o’-war from a coal , and the sight of the ocean makes me feel sick.”
“It’s such as you who bring the Upper House into discredit,” exclaimed Theodore.
“Such as I, my dear brother? Why, I’m the saving of the place, because I have a sense of humour. I know we’re no good. No one cares two straws about us. And they just leave us there because we do no harm and they’ve forgotten all about us.”
“I should like you to compare yourself with Wroxham,” said Canon Spratte. “Though he’s quite a young man, he has acquired a respected and assured position in the House of Lords.”
“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 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 with it, but if ever we put on airs and try to stand on our 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 , brother Theodore.”
“And do you ever go to the House of Lords, which you support by your sense of
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