"Not a vulgar doubt," Esmeer went on, "but a kind of hesitation
whether the Ancient of Days is really exactly what one would call
good form. . . . There's a lot of horrid coarseness got into the
world somehow. SOMEBODY put it there. . . . And anyhow there's no
particular reason why a man should be seen about with Him. He's
jolly Awful of course and all that--"

"The Pinky Dinky for all his fun and levity has a clean mind."

"A thoroughly clean mind. Not like Esmeer's--the Pig!"

"If once he began to think about sex, how could he be comfortable at
croquet?"

"It's their Damned Modesty," said Hatherleigh suddenly, "that's
what's the matter with the Pinky Dinky. It's Mental Cowardice
dressed up as a virtue and taking the poor dears in. Cambridge is
soaked with it; it's some confounded local bacillus. Like the thing
that gives a flavour to Havana cigars. He comes up here to be made
into a man and a ruler of the people, and he thinks it shows a nice
disposition not to take on the job! How the Devil is a great Empire
to be run with men like him?"

"All his little jokes and things," said Esmeer regarding his feet on
the fender, "it's just a nervous sniggering--because he's afraid. . . .
Oxford's no better."

"What's he afraid of?" said I.

"God knows!" exploded Hatherleigh and stared at the fire.