The Secret Glory
of the Etonian, the exquisite politeness of Harrow, the profound seriousness of Rugby; while the note of Lupton may, perhaps, be called finality. The Old Luptonian no more thinks of arguing a question than does the Holy Father, and his conversation is a series of irreformable dogmas, and the captious person who questions any one article is made to feel himself a cad and an outsider.
Thus it has been related that two men who had met for the first time at a certain country house-party were getting on together capitally in the evening over their whisky and soda and cigars. Each held identical views of equal violence on some important topic—Home Rule or the Transvaal or Free Trade—and, as the more masterful of the two asserted that hanging was too good for Blank (naming a well-known statesman), the other would reply: "I quite agree with you: hanging is too good for Blank."
"He ought to be burned alive," said the one.
"That's about it: he ought to be burned at the stake," answered the other.
"Look at the way he treated Dash! He's a coward and a damned scoundrel!"
"Perfectly right. He's a damned cursed scoundrel!"
This was splendid, and each thought the other a charming companion. Unfortunately, however, the conversation, by some caprice, veered from
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