"Some," said Ingram. "But a good deal of nonsense is talked about the
influence of clubs in that way. It is really absurd to suppose
that the size or the shape of a building can alter a man's moral
character."

"It does, though," said Mrs. Lorraine confidently. "I can tell
directly if a gentleman has been accustomed to spend his time in
clubs. When he is surprised or angry or impatient you can perceive
blanks in his conversation which in a club, I suppose, would be filled
up. Don't you know poor old Colonel Hannen's way of talking, mamma?
This old gentleman, Mr. Ingram, is very fond of speaking to you about
political liberty and the rights of conscience; and he generally
becomes so confused that he gets vexed with himself, and makes odd
pauses, as if he were invariably addressing himself in very
rude language indeed. Sometimes you would think he was like a
railway-engine, going blindly and helplessly on through a thick and
choking mist; and you can see that if there were no ladies present he
would let off a few crackers--fog-signals, as it were--just to bring
himself up a bit, and let people know where he was. Then he will go
on again, talking away until you fancy yourself in a tunnel, with a
throbbing noise in your ears and all the daylight shut out, and you
perhaps getting to wish that on the whole you were dead."

"Cecilia!"

"I beg your pardon, mamma," said the younger lady with a quiet smile
"you look so surprised that Mr. Ingram will give me credit for not
often erring in that way. You look as though a hare had turned and
attacked you."