"Pleased you not!" echoed his hostess; "then I abandon you to your tub; the scholarly, the literary world, would be a desert did your sweeping criticisms prevail."
"But how so, Dale? one would almost make sure of finding in him a rather superior excellence, knowing that he holds a pulpit in such a city as your London."
"Granted, Buckingham; but not only at London, but over the whole Christianized world, mistakes are to be found in the pulpit."
"Oh, no, Dale, I cannot go with you; 'tis in the pew that mistakes exist."
"I go with you there, Buckingham," he replied, wilfully misunderstanding him; "the pew system is selling out the Gospel by the square foot," at which his friend laughed.
"Mr. Dale," asked Mrs. Gower, "do you never allow the critic within you to go to sleep, allow your really generous nature full play, and give yourself up to enjoyment?"
"I do; for instance, now, here is a real enjoyment; but, pray, do not dub me a critic."
"I fear I must in some of your moods; but see, the mere word, or the silvery chimes of midnight, are lending wings to your wife, and Mrs. Smyth: they are deserting us. Are you examining the heavens, dear?" she says, following Mrs. Dale to a window.
"Look quick, Mrs. Gower, he won't see you if you peer through the slats; and how awful! in among the bushes, out in that torrent of rain, there is a——"
"Don't alarm Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, quietly, who had neared them unnoticed; "if there is anyone loitering about, let me open the shutters and window, and step out."