Lady Busshe was at that moment saying, "And are we indeed to have you for a neighbour, Dr. Middleton?"
The Rev. Doctor's reply was drowned by the new arrivals.
"I thought you had forsaken us," observed Sir Willoughby to Mrs.
Mountstuart.
"And run away with Colonel De Craye? I'm too weighty, my dear friend.
Besides, I have not looked at the wedding-presents yet."
"The very object of our call!" exclaimed Lady Culmer.
"I have to confess I am in dire alarm about mine," Lady Busshe nodded across the table at Clara. "Oh! you may shake your head, but I would rather hear a rough truth than the most complimentary evasion."
"How would you define a rough truth, Dr. Middleton?" said Mrs.
Mountstuart.
Like the trained warrior who is ready at all hours for the trumpet to arms, Dr. Middleton waked up for judicial allocution in a trice.
"A rough truth, madam, I should define to be that description of truth which is not imparted to mankind without a powerful impregnation of the roughness of the teller."
"It is a rough truth, ma'am, that the world is composed of fools, and that the exceptions are knaves," Professor Crooklyn furnished that example avoided by the Rev. Doctor.