Every one laughed uproariously, as they always do at an already
admitted readiness, and Sir Walter, turning suddenly purple,
shouted out:

"Do you know who you are talking to, with your confounded
tomfooleries?"

"I never talk tomfooleries," said the other, "without first knowing
my audience."

Grant walked across the room and tapped the red-moustached
secretary on the shoulder. That gentleman was leaning against the
wall regarding the whole scene with a great deal of gloom; but, I
fancied, with very particular gloom when his eyes fell on the young
lady of the house rapturously listening to Wimpole.

"May I have a word with you outside, Drummond?" asked Grant. "It is
about business. Lady Beaumont will excuse us."

I followed my friend, at his own request, greatly wondering, to
this strange external interview. We passed abruptly into a kind of
side room out of the hall.

"Drummond," said Basil sharply, "there are a great many good
people, and a great many sane people here this afternoon.
Unfortunately, by a kind of coincidence, all the good people are
mad, and all the sane people are wicked. You are the only person I
know of here who is honest and has also some common sense. What do
you make of Wimpole?"