He was, with, I fancied, a certain surprise.

'I'll tell you the sort of man that I've become. Are you listening?'

The Twickenham Peerage — Part 158

'I've become a man who resents any attempt on the part of any other man to take a liberty. You understand?'

The Twickenham Peerage — Part 158

'I trust, and believe, that your lordship will not find a trace of such a disposition in me.'

The Twickenham Peerage — Part 158

'You have taken more than one liberty since you've been inside this room.'

'Do you remember what a nauseous little brat you were when you were two?'

'No?--Perhaps your memory doesn't carry you so far back. Mine doesn't carry me back fifteen years. In my presence don't let yours. Do you understand that? Another point. I don't quite know why I've come back. I may go away next week for another fifteen years.'

'I cordially hope that your lordship won't.'

'I hope, Foster, that you're not getting old. Old men are apt to dodder.--How do you like the expression of that hope? Sounds personal, doesn't it? In the same sense, yours did to me.--We're apt to hope that other people won't do what they want to, but we resent that hope when it's applied to us. I hope you're not getting old. But as the relations which exist between us hardly justify me in attempting to interfere with the tribute which you pay to the passing years, I trust that I retain a remnant of courtesy sufficient to induce me not to meddle with matters with which I have no personal concern. I feel sure that, in that sense, you have almost as much courtesy as I have. Oblige me, Foster, by keeping a small stock of it on hand.--I was saying that I may go away again next week for another period of fifteen years; or I may not. It may amuse me to take up what is called my proper position in the country. If I choose to do so, I assure you that, with my money, and my rank, and the way I shall set about doing things, fifteen years ago won't count. Don't let them count with you.'

All the same I could see that there was something which had happened in the days of auld lang syne which was slithering about on the end of his tongue; and, to be frank, I was a trifle curious to know what it was. But after the sesquipedalian sentence I'd discharged at his head, for very shame's sake I couldn't ask, nor let him say. So I got rid of him instead.