The Reverend Jopling Baynes was a clergyman of the evasive type with a quite distinguished voice. He pursed his lips and made his eyes round. "Well, Mrs. Plessington," he said and fingered his glass, "it's the usual dietary. The usual dietary." "Too much and too rich, badly cooked and eaten too fast," said Aunt Plessington. "And what do you think is the remedy?" "We make an Effort," said the Rev. Jopling Baynes, "we make an Effort. A Hint here, a Word there." "Nothing organized?" "No," said the Rev. Jopling Baynes, and shook his head with a kind of resignation. "We are going to alter all that," said Aunt Plessington briskly, and went on to expound the Movement and the diverse way in which it might be possible to control and improve the domestic expenditure of the working classes. The Rev. Jopling Baynes listened sympathetically across the table and tried to satisfy a healthy appetite with as abstemious an air as possible while he did so. Aunt Plessington passed rapidly from general principles, to a sketch of the success of the movement, and Hubert, who had hitherto been busy with his lunch, became audible from behind the exceptionally large floral trophy that concealed him from his wife, bubbling confirmatory details. She was very bright and convincing as she told of this prominent man met and subdued, that leading antagonist confuted, and how the Bishops were coming in. She made it clear in her swift way that an intelligent cleric resolved to get on in this world _en route_ for a better one hereafter, might do worse than take up her Movement. And this touched in, she turned her mind to Mr. Magnet. (That floral trophy, I should explain, by the by, was exceptionally large because of Mrs. Pope's firm conviction that Aunt Plessington starved her husband. Accordingly, she masked him, and so was able to heap second and third helpings upon his plate without Aunt Plessington discovering his lapse. The avidity with which Hubert ate confirmed her worst suspicions and evinced, so far as anything ever did evince, his gratitude.) "Well, Mr. Magnet," she said, "I wish I had your sense of humour." "I wish you had," said Mr. Magnet. "I should write tracts," said Aunt Plessington. "I knew it was good for something," said Mr. Magnet, and Daffy laughed in a tentative way. "I mean it," said Aunt Plessington brightly. "Think if we had a Dickens--and you are the nearest man alive to Dickens--on the side of social reform to-day!" Mr. Magnet's light manner deserted him. "We do what we can, Mrs. Plessington," he said. "How much more might be done," said Aunt Plessington, "if humour could be organized." "Hear, hear!" said Mr. Pope. "If all the humorists of England could be induced to laugh at something together." "They do--at times," said Mr. Magnet, but the atmosphere was too serious for his light touch. "They could laugh it out of existence," said Aunt Plessington. It was evident Mr. Magnet was struck by the idea.