Ponsonby’s fish-like eyes travelled slowly from the Canon to the stout lady, and he positively blinked when he saw the rakish cock of her crape bonnet. Otherwise his massive face expressed no emotion. “White satin, sir?” he repeated, slowly. “I’ll inquire.” “Or satinette,” added Canon Spratte, unmoved. Ponsonby did not immediately leave the room, but looked at the Canon with a mystified expression. His master smiled quietly. “Perhaps Ponsonby does not quite understand. I mean, have we any gin in the house, Ponsonby?” The emotions of horror and surprise made their way deliberately from feature to feature of Ponsonby’s fleshy, immobile face. “Gin, sir? No, sir.” “Is there none in the servants’ hall?” “Oh no, sir!” answered Ponsonby, scandalized into some energy of expression. “How careless of me!” cried the Canon, with every appearance of vexation. “You ought to have reminded me that there was no gin in the house, Sophia. Well, Ponsonby, will you go and get sixpennyworth at the nearest public-house.” “Oh no, don’t send out for it,” said Mrs. Railing, in tones of entreaty, “I could never forgive myself.” “But I assure you it’s no trouble at all. And I should very much like to taste it.” “Well, then, threepennyworth is ample,” answered Mrs. Railing, with a nervous glance at her daughter. “You’re much better without it, ma,” said she. “Come, come, you mustn’t grudge your mother a little treat now and then,” cried their host. “And it’s a real treat for me, I can tell you,” Mrs. Railing assured him. Canon Spratte stretched out his arm, and with a dramatic gesture pointed to the door. “Threepennyworth of gin, Ponsonby.” “Yes, sir.” With noiseless feet Ponsonby vanished from the room. Mrs. Railing turned amiably to Lady Sophia. “That’s what I like about London, there always is a public-house round the corner.” “Ma, do mind what you’re saying.” Mrs. Railing did not like these frequent interruptions, and was about to make a somewhat heated rejoinder, when Lord Spratte joined in the conversation. “I quite agree with Mrs. Railing, I think it’s most convenient.” “Oh, do you?” said Louise, aggressively. “And may I ask if you have ever studied the teetotal question?” “Not I!” “And you’re a hereditary legislator,” she answered, looking him up and down with disdain. She fixed the peer with an argumentative eye. “I should just like to have a few words with you about the House of Lords. I’m a Radical and a Home Ruler. The House of Lords must go.” “Bless you, I’ll part from it without a tear.” “Now, what I want to know is what moral right have you to rule over me?” “My dear lady, if I rule over you it is entirely unawares,” replied Lord Spratte, in the most deprecating way. Miss Railing tossed her head with an impatient gesture. “I’m not concerned with you personally. To you as an individual I am absolutely indifferent.” “Don’t say that. Why should you ruthlessly crush my self-esteem?”