Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and wondered how it was they found so much to talk about. Harding did not intend to waste any time in talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on the table on her side and conversed with Mrs. Potten. He professed interest in her agricultural pursuits, told her that he liked digging in the rain, and by the time lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion that the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert and the moderate party in the Church of England were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised and pleased to hear such sound views expressed by any one from Oxford. She was afraid that very wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, but born and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear, clever Bernard any good, though she was convinced that the "dear Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she was on the point of rising when her movements were delayed by the shock of hearing Mr. Bingham suddenly guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.
"It depends upon what you mean by democratic," he said, smiling softly past Mrs. Potten and on to Harding. "The United States of America, which makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all men being free and equal, can barely manage to bring any wealthy pot to justice. On the other hand, Oxford, which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to make any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of one's college. In Oxford, even at Christ Church"--and here Bingham showed two rows of good teeth at Harding,--"you may say what you like now. Oxford now swarms with political Humanitarians, who go about sticking their stomachs out and pretending to be inspired! Now, what do you mean by Democratic?"
Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but Bingham's mellifluous voice gave a "cachet" to his language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge into it, she signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood and rose herself.
"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she said to Harding. "You give it to them, Mr. Harding. Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to the door.