But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after a time I could see the point of a joke without having it explained to me. She smiled.
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