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Updated: June 26, 2025
One thing he names honourable, another base; this good, that evil; this just, that unjust; all in accordance with the tastes and words of the great animal, which he has studied from its grunts and snarls. Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare! Does it touch thee? 'Comes it not something near? Nay, nay, take it not in dudgeon! 'Tis old Plato who speaks." "What, I?" cried the journalist, gaily.
They walked along one or two main streets, the journalist, still ink-spotted on the nose, nodding now and then to an acquaintance, and turned at length into a by-way of dwelling-houses, which did not, indeed, suggest opulence, but were roomy and decent. At one of the doors, Breakspeare paused, turned the handle, and ushered in his guest.
Jam has not hitherto been thought so respectable as ale or stout, but that's only a prejudice. Robb's enlightened mind saw the budding aristocrat. Breakspeare is thinking out an article on the deceased champion of aristocratic traditions, to be followed by another on the blazonry of the jam-pot and pickle-jar. We shall have merry reading when decorum releases our friend's pen."
But her education was elementary; she knew nothing of political theories, nothing of science or literature, and, as he looked at Constance Bride, Breakspeare asked himself what he might not have done, what ambition he might not have achieved, had it been his fate to wed such a woman as that! Miss Bride was his ideal.
"But I think I had better decide which is to be my hotel, when I have need of one. Will you advise me in that matter?" Breakspeare recommended the house which Lashmar already knew, and added hints concerning the political colour of leading trades-folk. When they rose, the host reminded Dyce of his suggestion that they should go and see an old friend of his, one Martin Blaydes.
Among the guests had figured Mr. Breakspeare, looking a trifle fresher than usual in his clean linen and ceremonial black. Hearing that Lashmar was to spend a couple of days more at Rivenoak, he asked him to dine on the following evening, Lady Ogram readily permitting the invitation. "I say dine; sup would be the better word, for I can offer you only simple entertainment.
"As you are leaving so soon " Dyce had said nothing whatever about departure "I should like to have a quiet word with you, whilst Constance is in the town. All goes well at Hollingford, doesn't it?" "Very well indeed, I think. Breakspeare gets more hopeful every day." Lady Ogram nodded and smiled.
Breakspeare echoed the speaker's mirth, and they talked on about the practical aspects of the next election in the borough. Meanwhile, Lady Ogram had sat in her great chair, dozing. Constance, accustomed to this, read for half an hour, or let her thoughts wander. At length overcoming her drowsiness, the old lady fixed a curious gaze upon Miss Bride, a gaze of benevolent meditation.
The little room contained many books, mostly old and such as had seen long service. As his habit was when a friend sat with him, Mr. Blaydes presently reached down a volume, and, on opening it, became aware of a passage which sent him into crowing laughter. "Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare, here's something for thee! Thou art the Sophist of our time, and list how the old wise man spoke of thy kind.
She interrupted him. "Could you come down in a fortnight?" "Easily, and gladly." "Then do so. Don't go to Hollingford; your room will be ready for you here. Just write and let me know when you will arrive." In a few minutes, both men took their leave, and went back to Hollingford together, driving in a fly which Breakspeare had ordered.
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