“⁠—Are you of opinion that your cousin, Lord Snigsworth, would give his name as a Member of my Committee? I don’t go so far as to ask for his lordship; I only ask for his name. Do you think he would give me his name?”

In sudden low spirits, Twemlow replies, “I don’t think he would.”

“My political opinions,” says Veneering, not previously aware of having any, “are identical with those of Lord Snigsworth, and perhaps as a matter of public feeling and public principle, Lord Snigsworth would give me his name.”

“It might be so,” says Twemlow; “but⁠—” And perplexedly scratching his head, forgetful of the yolks of eggs, is the more discomfited by being reminded how sticky he is.

“Between such old and intimate friends as ourselves,” pursues Veneering, “there should in such a case be no reserve. Promise me that if I ask you to do anything for me which you don’t like to do, or feel the slightest difficulty in doing, you will freely tell me so.”