"But what does it mean?"

"It means nothing. That is the beauty of it. British is inserted in
imitation of our idols, the Greeks; they adored redundancy."

In short, poor Alfred, though not an M. P., was talking to put off time,
till Julia should come in: so he now favoured Mrs. Dodd, of all people,
with a flowery description of her husband's play, which I, who have not
his motive for volubility, suppress. However, he wound up with the
captains "moral influence." "Last match," said he, "Barkington did not do
itself justice. Several, that could have made a stand, were frightened
out, rather than bowled, by the London professionals. Then Captain Dodd
went in, and treated those artists with the same good-humoured contempt
he would a parish bowler, and, in particular, sent Mynne's over-tossed
balls flying over his head for five, or to square leg for four, and, on
his retiring with twenty-five, scored in eight minutes, the remaining
Barkingtonians were less funky, and made some fair scores."

Mrs. Dodd smiled a little ironically at this tirade, but said she thought
she might venture to promise Mr. Dodd's co-operation, should he reach
home in time. Then, to get rid of Alfred before Julia's return, the
amiable worldling turned to Edward. "Your sister will not be back, so you
may as well ring the bell for luncheon at once. Perhaps Mr. Hardie will
join us."

Alfred declined, and took his leave with far less alacrity than he had
entered; Edward went down-stairs with him.

"Miss Dodd gone on a visit?" asked Alfred, affecting carelessness.