"It's what is always used, I believe," said Charles.
"Oh yes, we must not go against the age," said Campbell; "it would be absurd to do so. I only spoke of what was right and wrong on abstract principles; and, to tell the truth, I can't help liking the mixture myself, though I can't defend it."
Bateman rang for tea; his friends wished to return home soon; it was the month of January, and no season for after-dinner strolls. "Well," he said, "Campbell, you are more lenient to the age than to me; you yield to the age when it sets a figured bass to a Gregorian tone; but you laugh at me for setting a coat upon a cassock."
"It's no honour to be the author of a mongrel type," said Campbell.
"A mongrel type?" said Bateman; "rather it is a transition state."
"What are you passing to?" asked Charles.
"Talking of transitions," said Campbell abruptly, "do you know that your man Willis—I don't know his college, he turned Romanist—is living in my parish, and I have hopes he is making a transition back again."
"Have you seen him?" said Charles.
"No; I have called, but was unfortunate; he was out. He still goes to mass, I find."
"Why, where does he find a chapel?" asked Bateman.