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540 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
fresh dropped from the skies, he would espy dirt on your robe, and
a black feather or two in your wing. As for me, I know I am not
angelical at all ; and in walking my native earth, can't help a little
mud on my trousers. Well : Mr. Trail began to paint my portrait,
laying on those dark shadows which that well-known master is in
the habit of employing. I was a parasite of the nobility ; I was
a heartless sycophant, housebreaker, drunkard, murderer, returned
convict, &c. &c. With a little imagination, Mrs. Candour can fill up
the outline and arrange the colours so as to suit her amiable fancy.
Philip had come late to dinner ;—of this fault, I must confess,
he is guilty only too often. The company were at table : he took the
only place vacant, and this happened to be at the side of Mr. Trail.
On Trail's other side was a portly individual, of a healthy and rosy
countenance and voluminous white waistcoat, to whom Trail directed
much of his amiable talk, and whom he addressed once or twice
as Sir John. Once or twice already we have seen how Philip has
quarrelled at table. He cried mea culpa loudly and honestly enough.
He made vows of reform in this particular. He succeeded, clearly
beloved brethren, not much worse or better than you and I do, who
confess our faults, and go on promising to improve, and stumbling
and picking ourselves up every day. The pavement of life is
strewed with orange-peel ; and who has not slipped on the flags ?
" He is the most conceited man in London,"—Trail was going on,
" and one of the most worldly. He will throw over a colonel to dine
with a general. He wouldn't throw over you two baronets—he is a
great deal too shrewd a fellow for that. He wouldn't give you up,
perhaps, to dine with a lord ; but any ordinary baronet he would."
" And why not us as well as the rest ?" asks Tregarvan, who
seemed amused at the speaker's chatter.
"Because you are not like common baronets at all. Because
your estates are a great deal too large. Because, I suppose, you
might either of you go to the Upper House any day. Because,
as an author, he may be supposed to be afraid of a certain Review"
cries Trail, with a loud laugh.
" Trail is speaking of a friend of yours," said the host, nodding
and smiling, to the new comer.
" Very lucky for my friend," growls Philip, and eats his soup
in silence.
" By the way, that article of his on Madame de Sévigné is poor
stuff. No knowledge of the period. Three gross blunders in
French. A man can't write of French society unless he has lived
in French society. What does Pendennis know of it? A man
who makes blunders like those can't understand French. A man
who can't speak French can't get on in French society. Therefore