Everybody was listening by this time. Sir Robert Dacre, I thought, seemed secretly diverted; and Hatty’s eyes were gleaming with fun. Father looked uncomfortable, and as if he did not know what Mr Keith would be at. From my Aunt Kezia little nods of satisfaction kept coming to what he said.
“Sir,” demanded Mr Bagnall, looking his adversary straight in the face, “are you not orthodox?”
He spoke rather in the tone in which he might have asked, “Are you not honest?”
“May I ask you to explain the word, before I answer?” was Mr Keith’s response.
“I mean, are you one of these Methodists?”
“Certainly not. I belong to the Kirk of Scotland.”
Mr Bagnall’s “Oh!” seemed to say that some at any rate of Mr Keith’s queer notions might be accounted for, if he were so unfortunate as to have been born in a different Church.
“But,” pursued Mr Keith, “seeing that the Church of England, and the Kirk of Scotland, and the Methodists, all accept the Word of God as the rule of faith, they should all, methinks, be sound in the faith, if that be what you mean by ‘orthodox.’”
“By ‘orthodox,’” said the Vicar of Sebergham, after a sonorous clearing of his throat, “I understand a man who keeps to the Articles of the Church, and does not run into any extravagances and enthusiasm.”
“Hear him!” cried Mr Bagnall, as if he were at a Tory meeting. Hatty burst out laughing, but immediately smothered it in her handkerchief.