"Bravo! bravo!" cried Buckingham.
"Very well put," said Dale; "short a time as I have been in Toronto, I have observed that for culture and refinement one must look to the people who live on modest incomes, or salaries; middle class is a phrase I find no use for. In this country there are the 'vulgar rich,' whose 'rank is but the guinea's stamp,' and well-bred poor; there are impoverished gentry, with an innate refinement showing in their too often struggling descendants; there are the moneyed people, lacking what filthy lucre cannot buy, namely, good breeding, and who never weary in parading their jewels, furniture and fine clothes."
"Very true," said Mrs. Gower; "I have frequently thought at some of our large social gatherings, that it is a pity one's blood cannot be analyzed instead of one's gown."
"What a resurrection there would be," said Buckingham; "not a few would long to pocket their own heads."
"A sympathetic artiste must feel any want of oneness in her audience," said Mrs. Dale; "I should throw my roll of music at them and retire."
"At which, dear, they would only give their unwearied cry of 'encore,'" said her hostess; "it is very evident we are all at one in a very decided distaste for mongrels; but, Mr. Buckingham, during your run on the Kingston and Pembroke rail you missed hearing the Rev. Jackson Wray."
"Yes; did he please you?"
"Extremely; both in his sermonizing and in his lecture on George Whitefield; he is eloquent, and his imagery and figurative language charmed me."
"Indeed; in that case I regret to have missed him. Did you hear him, Dale?"
"Yes, and though I regret the not being at one with Mrs. Gower in all things," he said, smilingly, "must say he pleased me not."