"You mean by a romance a work that is not soiled with the common realism of to-day."
"I am willing to mean that."
"But you will admit, Mrs. Elgar, that my mode of fiction has as much to say for itself as that which you prefer?"
"In asking for one admission you take for granted another. That is a little confusing."
It was made sufficiently so to Mr. Bickerdike. He thrust out his long legs, and exclaimed:
"I should be grateful to you if you would tell me what your view of the question really is—I mean, of the question at issue between the two schools of fiction."
"But will you first make clear to me the characteristics of the school you represent?"
"It would take a long time to do that satisfactorily. I proceed on the assumption that fiction is poetry, and that poetry deals only with the noble and the pure."
"Yes," said Cecily, as he paused for a moment, "I see that it would take too long. You must deal with so many prejudices—such, for example, as that which supposes 'King Lear' and 'Othello' to be poems."
Mr. Bickerdike began a reply, but it was too late; Mrs. Lessingham had approached with some one else who wished to be presented to Mrs. Elgar, and the novelist could only bite his lips as he moved away to find a more reverent listener.