"The 'Edinburgh Review' for this month. An article on 'Marmion.' And Polly—would you think it?—the Editor has no appreciation for our great poet's genius! No; none whatever. He writes—he writes as if Mr. Scott were but a common man, like any other sort of scribbler—and not the mighty world-wide genius that he is."
"Would that be a paper by Mr. Jeffrey? But he knows Mr. Scott. The two are friends. Can he find it in his heart to blame his friend? And what may he see to find fault with?"
"What indeed?" echoed eager Molly. "Do but hear? He says it is 'a good deal longer' than the last poem—'more ambitious,' with 'greater faults' and 'greater beauties,' 'less sweetness,' 'more vehemence,' 'redundancy,' and a 'general tone of spirit and animation, unchecked by timidity or affectation, and unchastened by any great delicacy of taste or elegance of fancy.' Oh!" cried indignant Molly, "to think that any critic can be so blinded by prejudice! There have been poets, 'tis true, before this; but none, sure, to compare with the author of 'Marmion!' Why, what were Homer and Milton—what are those old plays by Mr. William Shakespeare, which Mr. Bryce loves to read—compared with the poetical writings of Mr. Scott? I have a mind never to read the 'Edinburgh Review' again." Molly flung it to the ground.
"A young man desires to speak with Miss Baron." The butler's solemn voice came as a surprise.
"His name, Drake?" asked Polly.
"The young man refuses to give his name, Miss."
"Then what does he want?"
"He says that Miss Baron will know him. He—in fact he declines to be refused, Miss. But if it is your wish that he be sent away—"
"You must make him say what he wants, Drake."
"Is he a gentleman?" asked Molly.