"Who is the lion and who the lamb?" asked Candish.
"It is your place to apply Scripture, not mine," retorted Fenton.
"I represent the minority of the committee," was Hubbard's reply to his host's question. "There is no other position so safe in matters of art as that of an objector."
"That is because art appeals to the most sensitive of human characteristics," Arthur retorted smiling,—"human vanity."
"Vanity?" echoed Mrs. Hubbard.
"That from you?" exclaimed Miss Mott.
"Really, Mr. Fenton," protested Miss Penwick, in accents of real concern, "you shouldn't say such a thing; there are so many people who would suppose you meant it."
The simple old creature knew no more of the real meaning of art than she did of that of the hieroglyphics on an Egyptian obelisk, but she had lectured on it, and she felt for it the deep reverence common to those who label their superstition with the name "culture."
"But I do mean it," returned Fenton, becoming more animated from the pleasure of defending an extravagant position. "What is the object of art but to perpetuate and idealize the emotions of the race; and how does it touch men, except by flattering their vanity with the assumption that they individually share the grand passions of mankind."
A chorus of protests arose; but Arthur went on, laughingly over-riding it.