“You brought me a letter, sir, from the Reverend Silas Smallwood,” said she, very much in the tone of a barrister cross-examining a troublesome witness.
“Yes, madam; that gentleman kindly offered a friend of mine to be the means of presenting me to you.”
“So that you are not personally acquainted, sir?”
“We have never, so far as I know, even seen each other.”
“It is as well, sir, fully as well. Mr. Smallwood is a person for whose judgment or discrimination I would have the very humblest opinion, and I have therefore, from what you tell me, the hope that you are not of his party in the Church.”
“I am unable to answer you, madam, knowing nothing whatever of Mr. Smallwood's peculiar views.”
“This is fencing, sir; and I don't admire fencing. Let us understand each other. What have you come here to preach? I hope my question is a direct one?”
“I am an ordained minister of the Church of England, madam; and when I have said so, I have answered you.”
“What, sir? do you imagine your reply is sufficient. In an age when not alone every doctrine is embraced within the Church, but that there is a very large and increasing party who are prepared to have no doctrine at all? I perceive, sir, I must make my approaches to you in a different fashion. Are you a man of vestments, gesticulations, and glass windows? Do you dramatize your Christianity?”
“I believe I can say no, madam, to all these.”