"If doctor and minister did understand each other and work together," said Wingfold, "I fancy a good deal more might be done."
"I don't doubt it.—What sort of fellow is that cousin of theirs—Bascombe is his name, I believe?"
"A man to suit you, I should think," said the curate; "a man with a most tremendous power of believing in nothing."
"Come, come!" returned the doctor, "you don't know half enough about me to tell what sort of man I should like or dislike."
"Well, all I will say more of Bascombe is, that if he were not conceited he would be honest; and if he were as honest as he believes himself, he would not be so ready to judge every one dishonest who does not agree with him."
"I hope we may have another talk soon," said the doctor, searching for a cork. "Some day I will tell you a few things that may stagger you."
"Likely enough: I am only learning to walk yet," said Wingfold. "But a man may stagger and not fall, and I am ready to hear anything you choose to tell me."
Faber handed him the bottle, and he took his leave.