“Now, Lorraine,” began Sir Remnant, after the ladies had left the room, and the Captain was gone out to look at something, according to arrangement, and had taken the Rector with him, “we have known one another a good many years; and I want a little sensible talk with you.” “Sir Remnant, I hope that our talk is always sensible; so far at least as can be expected on my part.” “There you are again, Lorraine, using some back meaning, such as no one else can enter into. But let that pass. It is your way. Now I want to say something to you.” “I also am smitten with a strong desire to know what it is, Sir Remnant.” “Well, it is neither more nor less than this. You know what dangerous times we live in, with every evil power let loose, and Satan, like a roaring lion, rampant and triumphant. Thank you, yes, I will take a pinch; your snuff is always so delicious. With the arch-enemy prowling about, with democracy, nonconformity, infidelity, and rick-burnings----” “Exactly so. How well you express it! I was greatly struck with it in the _George and Dragon’s_ report of your speech at the farmers’ dinner at Billinghurst.” “Well, well, I may have said it before; but that only makes it the more the truth. Can you deny it, Sir Roland Lorraine?” “Far be it from me to deny the truth. I am listening with the greatest interest.” “No, you are not; you never do. You are always thinking of something to yourself. But what I was going to say was this, that it is high time to cement the union, and draw close the bonds of amity between all good men, all men of any principle--by which I mean--come now, you know.” “To be sure: you mean all stanch Tories.” “Yes, yes; all who hold by Church and State, land and the constitution. I have educated my son carefully in the only right and true principles. Train up a child--you know what I mean. And you, of course, have brought up your daughter upon the same right system.” “Nay, rather, I have left her to form her own political opinions. And, to the best of my belief, she has formed none.” “Lorraine, I am heartily glad to hear it. That is how all the girls should be. When I was in London, they turned me sick with asking my opinion. The less they know, the better for them. Knowledge of anything makes a woman scarcely fit to speak to. My poor dear wife could read and write, and that was quite enough for her. She did it on the jam-pots always, and she could spell most of it. Ah, she was a most wonderful woman!” “She was. I often found much pleasure in her conversation. She knew so many things that never come by way of reading.” “And so does Stephen. You should hear him. He never reads any sort of book. Ah, that is the true learning. Books always make stupid people. Now it struck me that--ah, you know, I see. A wink’s as good as a nod, of course. No catching a weasel asleep.” Here Sir Remnant screwed up one eye, and gave Sir Roland a poke in the ribs, with the most waggish air imaginable.