To his great good fortune Canon Spratte found he was to take down to dinner Lady Patricia, the Prime Minister’s daughter. He could be brilliant and talkative, but on occasion he could be also a witty listener; and this useful art he employed now to the best advantage. None knew what self-restraint it needed for Canon Spratte to seem a little dull, but he was aware that Lady Patricia shared her father’s predilection for undangerous mediocrity. He heard what she said with grave interest. He asked intelligent questions. He went so far as to demand her advice on a matter wherein he had no intention of following any opinion but his own. Lady Patricia gained the impression that there was no one in the world at that moment whom he wanted to see more than herself, and she talked with a fluency that was as unusual as it was pleasing. She was a woman who found topics of conversation with difficulty, and so felt uncommonly pleased with herself. She could not help thinking the Canon a man of considerable ability. And the contrast between him and her other neighbour was altogether to Canon Spratte’s advantage. Lady Hollington had the fashionable craze for asking literary and artistic persons to her parties. They take the place in a democratic age of the buffoons whom princes formerly kept in their houses, and are a luxury which the most economical can afford. But the novelist who now claimed Lady Patricia’s attention, entertained her with his theories upon art and literature; and since she knew nothing of either, and cared less, the poor lady was immoderately bored. The Canon was delighted to find on his left an old friend of his. Mrs. Fitzherbert was a handsome widow of five-and-forty, with singularly fine teeth, and these a charming smile gave her an opportunity of displaying with some frequency. None knew whether her keen sense of humour was due to the excellence of her teeth, or whether her teeth were so noticeable on account of this acute perception of the ridiculous. “I’m doubly favoured by the gods this evening,” said Canon Spratte. “If I were a Papist I would offer a candle of gratitude to my patron saint. I didn’t know I should be so fortunate as to meet you nor so lucky as to sit by your side.” “It’s taken you some time to avail yourself of the privilege of speaking to me,” she answered, glancing at the _menu_. “I wanted to appease the pangs of my hunger first, so that I could devote myself to the pleasure of your conversation with an undistracted mind.” “Then you agree with me, that a man is only quite human when he’s eaten his dinner?” she smiled. “My thoughts are never so ethereal as when my body is occupied with the process of digestion,” the Canon replied, ironically.