The words were spoken not so much as from equal to equal as in a tone
of airy patronage which made the Bishop's blood boil. But as he
intended to instil a few words of wisdom into his uncle's mind, he did
not refuse the offer.

The cabman, apparently accepting the situation as one of those slings
and arrows of outrageous fortune which no man can hope to escape,
settled down on the box, clicked up his horse, and drove on towards the
College.

'What sort of a hole is Beckford?' asked Farnie, after the silence had
lasted some time.

'I find it good enough personally,' said Gethryn. 'If you'd let us know
earlier that you were coming, we'd have had the place done up a bit for
you.'

This, of course, was feeble, distinctly feeble. But the Bishop was not
feeling himself. The essay in sarcasm left the would-be victim entirely
uncrushed. He should have shrunk and withered up, or at the least have
blushed. But he did nothing of the sort. He merely smiled in his
supercilious way, until the Bishop felt very much inclined to spring
upon him and throw him out of the cab.

There was another pause.

'Farnie,' began Gethryn at last.

'Um?'