It need not be long: she would write it out for him herself. He must learn it absolutely by heart and must take the greatest care to pronounce the words accurately. She chose a debate in which he could talk more or less at large and put before him as gentle, as well reasoned, as terse and as broad-minded a piece of wisdom as the House might have listened to for many months. Morning and afternoon, a patient governess, Mary Smith heard him recite that speech; but as day succeeded day she slowly determined that it wouldn’t do. One slip might be his ruin. Upon the tenth rehearsal he still said “very precious” for “meretricious.” He was still unable to restrain a sharp forward movement at the words “I will go a step further”; and he could never get in its right order the simple phrase: “I yield to no one in my admiration for the right honourable gentleman.” First he would yield to a right honourable gentleman; then no one would yield to him; then he would yield to no admiration, and at last she gave it up in despair. A woman of less tenacity would have abandoned her design; not so Mary Smith. She discovered with careful art that there was no reason why a Warden of the Court of Dowry should speak in the House at all; he might hold his post for three years and do no more than answer questions, leaving to a subordinate the duty of speaking upon those very rare public Bills, which, however distantly, concerned his office. She had already made him a name; she was determined not to destroy it by following up this false scent of training him to public speaking. At last, as the month of May was drawing to a close, she determined to put him upon the rails. Dolly and she were agreed. Perhaps Dimmy would need to be persuaded; he was naturally modest, and what was more he would very certainly be afraid, but still more certainly he wanted money most abominably. When the day came for him to receive his great illumination she called him to her once more, and once more he found her alone. She lunched him first, and gave him a wine of which she knew he could drink in moderation, for she felt he would need courage; she let him drink his coffee, she lit her own tiny cigar, and at last she said: “Dimmy, what does it take you to live?” “I don’t know,” said Dimmy with some terror in his eyes. Mary Smith looked at him a little quizzically. He did not like those looks though he was fond of her. It made him feel like an animal. “Dimmy,” she said, “could you and Sudie manage it on seven thousand a year, or say on six thousand?”