and Joe were at last packed into the deep booby. It was simply a form of
invitation. There was no reason why Mr. Vancouver should not get in, and
with a word of thanks he did so. Ten minutes later the three were seated
round the fire in Miss Schenectady's drawing-room.

"It was very fine, was it not, Miss Thorn?" said Vancouver.

"Yes," said Joe, staring at the fire.

"There are some people," said Miss Schenectady, "it does not seem to make
much difference what they say, but it is always fine."

"Is that ironical?" asked Vancouver.

"Why, goodness gracious no! Of course not! I am John Harrington's very
best friend. I only mean to say."

"What, Aunt Zoe ?" inquired Joe, not yet altogether accustomed to the
peculiar implications of her aunt's language.

"Why, what I said, of course; it sounds very fine."

"Then you do not believe it all?" asked Vancouver.

"I don't understand politics," said the old lady. "You might ring the
bell, Joe, and ask Sarah for some tea."

"Nobody understands politics," said Vancouver. "When people do, there will
be an end of them. Politics consist in one half of the world trying to
drive paradoxes down the throats of the other half."