"The lady was Mrs. Errington," answered the tutor, after a moment's pause.
"She called you an owl? That eagle? Well, she has this aquiline quality; I believe she could stare the sun himself out of countenance!"
"You were asking me to tell you——" said Mr. Diamond.
"To tell me——? Oh, yes; about the Methodist preacher. That caricature is not like him, you say?"
"Not at all. It is a vulgar conception of the man."
"And the man is not vulgar? I am glad of that! Tell me about him."
Matthew Diamond had heard the preacher more than once. The first time had been by chance on Whit Meadow. The other times were in the crowded, close Wesleyan chapel, into which he had penetrated at the cost of a good deal of personal inconvenience, so greatly had Powell's eloquence impressed him.
"The man is like a flame of fire," he said. "It is wonderful! He must be like Garrick, according to the descriptions I have heard. And, then, this fellow is so handsome—wild and oriental-looking. I always long to clap a turban on his head, and a great flowing robe over his shoulders."
Minnie listened eagerly, with parted lips, to all that Diamond would tell her of the preacher.
"That is for his manner," she said, at length. "Now, as to the matter?"