When they went down to dinner, Alice, profiting by her experience of the day before, faced the servants with composure, and committed no solecisms. Unable to take part in the conversation, as she knew little of literature and nothing of politics, which were the staple of Lucian’s discourse, she sat silent, and reconsidered an old opinion of hers that it was ridiculous and ill-bred in a lady to discuss anything that was in the newspapers. She was impressed by Lucian’s cautious and somewhat dogmatic style of conversation, and concluded that he knew everything. Lydia seemed interested in his information, but quite indifferent to his opinions. Towards half-past seven Lydia proposed that they should walk to the railway station, adding, as a reason for going, that she wished to make some bets with Lord Worthington. Lucian looked grave at this, and Alice, to show that she shared his notions of propriety, looked shocked. Neither demonstration had the slightest effect on Lydia. On their way to the station he remarked, “Worthington is afraid of you, Lydia--needlessly, as it seems.” “Why?” “Because you are so learned, and he so ignorant. He has no culture save that of the turf. But perhaps you have more sympathy with his tastes than he supposes.” “I like him because I have not read the books from which he has borrowed his opinions. Indeed, from their freshness, I should not be surprised to learn that he had them at first hand from living men, or even from his own observation of life.” “I may explain to you, Miss Goff,” said Lucian, “that Lord Worthiugton is a young gentleman--” “Whose calendar is the racing calendar,” interposed Lydia, “and who interests himself in favorites and outsiders much as Lucian does in prime-ministers and independent radicals. Would you like to go to Ascot, Alice?” Alice answered, as she felt Lucian wished her to answer, that she had never been to a race, and that she had no desire to go to one. “You will change your mind in time for next year’s meeting. A race interests every one, which is more than can be said for the opera or the Academy.” “I have been at the Academy,” said Alice, who had made a trip to London once. “Indeed!” said Lydia. “Were you in the National Gallery?” “The National Gallery! I think not. I forget.” “I know many persons who never miss an Academy, and who do not know where the National Gallery is. Did you enjoy the pictures, Alice?” “Oh, very much indeed.” “You will find Ascot far more amusing.” “Let me warn you,” said Lucian to Alice, “that my cousin’s pet caprice is to affect a distaste for art, to which she is passionately devoted; and for literature, in which she is profoundly read.” “Cousin Lucian,” said Lydia, “should you ever be cut off from your politics, and disappointed in your ambition, you will have an opportunity of living upon art and literature. Then I shall respect your opinion of their satisfactoriness as a staff of life. As yet you have only tried them as a sauce.”