"Uncle Tom's Cabin," said Miss Tallmadge, trying to speak lightly.
"A very uncommon woman, Mrs. Stowe," said Mr. Tallmadge, firmly; "very uncommon, indeed."
"Let us hope so," ejaculated Mrs. Gano, half to herself.
"Eh?" inquired Mr. Tallmadge, with gruff suspicion. "What say?"
"I was granting her uncommonness, and hoping it wouldn't get commoner."
"H'm! It could hardly be expected, I suppose, that you should think well of—"
"No; I can't be expected to think well of a woman who is not content with getting a whole nation by the ears, but she must interfere between husband and wife, and—"
"What say?" inquired Mr. Tallmadge, with corrugated brows and hand to his deaf ear. "I'm talking about Harriet Beecher Stowe."
"So am I," said Mrs. Gano. "I only hope she'll be content with the mischief she's done already, and not rush into print with her espousal of Lady Byron's wrongs."