"Certainly," assented Beaumont gravely. "I like all things in moderation."
"Even Horace," whispered Dick to Reginald, who laughed loudly and then apologised for his untimely mirth.
"As to literature," said Dr. Larcher ponderously, "I'm afraid there is rather a falling off--we are frivolous--yes, decidedly frivolous."
"I wish we were anything half so pleasant," remarked Beaumont, "I'm afraid we're decidedly dull."
"The wave of genius which began with this present century," said the vicar pompously, "has now spent its force and to a great extent died away--soon it will gather again and sweep onward."
"If it would only sweep away a few hundred of our present writers, I don't think anyone would mind," said the artist laughing.
"Sed omnes una manet nox," observed Dr. Larcher with a grim smile.
"What, all our present day scribblers? What a delightful thing for the twentieth century."
Dr. Larcher smiled blandly as he set down his cup, for he liked his Horatian allusions to be promptly taken up, and began to think Beaumont rather good company. He nodded kindly to the whole party, and was about to turn away when a sudden thought struck him.
"Do you want to see me, Mr. Beaumont?" he asked looking at the artist.