'Now, if the clock were a woman,' said he, 'it might be half-past four and we still thinking it five minutes to twelve.' 'Oh, is it there you are?' said Wogan. 'Why, yes,' replied Kelly. 'Lord Oxford, do you see, Nick, is a half-hearted sort of trembler--that we know and are ready for him. But what of my lady?' Wogan crossed his legs and laughed comfortably. Here was matter with which he could confidently deal. 'Well, what of her?' he asked. 'You heard what Fanny Oglethorpe said. She is a kinswoman of Mr. Walpole's. How shall we be sure of her at all? A woman, Nick, is a creature who walks in the byways of thought. How shall an obtuse man follow her?' Wogan took a pinch of snuff. 'It is very well, George,' said he, 'that I took this journey with you. I'll make your conduct plain to you as the palm of my hand. In the first place, there was never a woman yet from Cleopatra downwards that cared the scrape of a fiddle for politics. 'Twas never more than a path that led to something else, and is held of just as small account as the road a girl dances down when she goes to meet her lover. Look at Fanny Oglethorpe, Olive Trant, and the rest of them in Paris! D'you think it's the Cause they ever give a thought to? If you do you're sadly out, my friend. No; what troubles their heads is simply that the Chevalier is a romantical figure of a man, and would look extraordinarily well with a gold crown on the top of his periwig. Now I'm wagering it will be just the same with my Lady Oxford. You have all the qualifications down to your legs, and let my lady once take a liking to your person she will gulp your politics without a grimace.' Mr. Kelly turned a startled face towards his instructor. 'You would have me pay court to her?' says he. 'Just that,' says Wogan, imperturbably. 'Keep your politics for my lord and have a soft word ready for my lady. Pen her a delicate ode in Latin. To be sure the addresses of an erudite man have something particularly flattering to the sex. Or drop out a pretty compliment on her ear.' 'Oh, on her ear?' said Kelly, beginning to smile. 'Of what sort?' 'Faith, George, but you exasperate me,' said Nick. 'Isn't there an infinity of images you could use? For instance--,' said he, and hummed a little. 'Well, for instance!' said Kelly, urging him on. 'For instance,' returned Wogan, 'you can speak of its functions--' 'I understand. I am to tell her that it is a very proper thing for a woman to sit and listen to other people.' 'Tell her that,' cries Wogan, lifting up his hands, 'and you will be drubbed down the staircase pretty quick! No. Tell her there is never a poet laureate in the world would print a single one of his poems if he could treasure his music within her ear.' 'Ah,' says Kelly. 'That is a compliment of quite a different kind,' and he repeated it three times to commit it to memory. 'But one, Nick, will not suffice. I must have more sayings about her ear.'