Lady Tippins fancies she has collected the suffrages
of the whole Committee (nobody dreaming of asking
the Veneerings for their opinion), when, looking round
the table through her eyeglass, she perceives Mr Twemlow
with his hand to his forehead.
Good gracious! My Twemlow forgotten! My
dearest! My own! What is his vote?
Twemlow has the air of being ill at ease, as he takes
his hand from his forehead and replies.
‘I am disposed to think,’ says he, ’that
this is a question of the feelings of a gentleman.’
‘A gentleman can have no feelings who contracts
such a marriage,’ flushes Podsnap.
‘Pardon me, sir,’ says Twemlow, rather
less mildly than usual, ’I don’t agree
with you. If this gentleman’s feelings of
gratitude, of respect, of admiration, and affection,
induced him (as I presume they did) to marry this
lady—’
‘This lady!’ echoes Podsnap.
‘Sir,’ returns Twemlow, with his wristbands
bristling a little, ’you repeat the word;
I repeat the word. This lady. What else would
you call her, if the gentleman were present?’
This being something in the nature of a poser for
Podsnap, he merely waves it away with a speechless
wave.
‘I say,’ resumes Twemlow, ’if such
feelings on the part of this gentleman, induced this
gentleman to marry this lady, I think he is the greater
gentleman for the action, and makes her the greater
lady. I beg to say, that when I use the word,
gentleman, I use it in the sense in which the degree
may be attained by any man. The feelings of a
gentleman I hold sacred, and I confess I am not comfortable
when they are made the subject of sport or general
discussion.’
‘I should like to know,’ sneers Podsnap,
’whether your noble relation would be of your
opinion.’
‘Mr Podsnap,’ retorts Twemlow, ’permit
me. He might be, or he might not be. I cannot
say. But, I could not allow even him to dictate
to me on a point of great delicacy, on which I feel
very strongly.’
Somehow, a canopy of wet blanket seems to descend
upon the company, and Lady Tippins was never known
to turn so very greedy or so very cross. Mortimer
Lightwood alone brightens. He has been asking
himself, as to every other member of the Committee
in turn, ’I wonder whether you are the Voice!’
But he does not ask himself the question after Twemlow
has spoken, and he glances in Twemlow’s direction
as if he were grateful. When the company disperse—by
which time Mr and Mrs Veneering have had quite as
much as they want of the honour, and the guests have
had quite as much as they want of the other honour—Mortimer
sees Twemlow home, shakes hands with him cordially
at parting, and fares to the Temple, gaily.
IN LIEU OF PREFACE
