“Did you send the communication yourself, Theodore?” asked Lady Sophia, with raised eyebrows. “Surely I recognize your incisive style.” “My dear Sophia,” he cried, indignantly. But he met her calm eyes; and her dry smile of amusement called up on his own lips a smile of confession. He looked at the paragraph thoughtfully. “I think it reads very well. It’s brief, pointed, I might almost say epigrammatic; and it will certainly prevent misconception.” “Also it will remind those in power that there is no more excellent candidate than the Vicar of St. Gregory’s.” “My dear Sophia, I honestly don’t think any one would call me a vain man, but I cannot think myself unsuitable for the position. I’m sure you will be the last to deny that my parentage gives me certain claims upon my country.” “Which I suppose you took care to point out to Lord Stonehenge last night?” “On the contrary, I flatter myself I was tactful enough to discuss the most indifferent matters with him. We talked of grapes and the Manager of the Army and Navy Stores. I merely remarked how sad it was that poor Andover was dead.” “Ha!” “He agreed with me that it was very sad. For his years I thought him pleasant and intelligent. And then he talked about the General Election. I ventured to explain how important it was that the bishops should be imbued with Conservative principles.” “And d’you think he swallowed the bait?” asked Lady Sophia. “My dear, I wish you would not express yourself quite so brutally.” “I often wonder if you humbug yourself as much as you humbug other people,” she replied, with a meditative smile. Canon Spratte stared at her with astonishment, and answered with dignity. “Upon my soul, I don’t know what you mean. I have always done my duty in that state of life in which it has pleased Providence to place me. And if I may say so without vanity, I have done it with pleasure to myself and with profit to mankind.” “Ah, yes, you’re one of those men for whom the path of duty is always strewn with roses.” “It’s my strength of character that makes it so,” said the Canon, blandly. “It never seems odd to you that when there are two courses open, the right one should invariably be that which redounds to your personal advantage.” “Some men, Sophia, are born to greatness; some men achieve greatness; others have greatness thrust upon them. It would be immodest in me to say which of these three more particularly applies to myself.” The answer perhaps was not very apt to the occasion, but the observation was a favourite with Canon Spratte; and he made it with such a triumphant assurance that it sounded like a very crushing retort. “Do you remember our old nurse, Theodore?” asked Lady Sophia, smiling. “Old Anne Ramsay?” cried Canon Spratte, in his hearty way. “To be sure I do! I shall never forget her. She was a dear old soul.”