“But by whatever name,” said Helen, “surely you join in that general wish to have seen him?”
“Yes, yes, I am sure of your vote,” cried Lady Cecilia, coming up to them, “You, Granville, would rather have seen Sir Walter Scott than any author since Shakespeare—would not you?”
“Pardon me, on the contrary, I am glad that I have never seen him.”
“Glad not to have seen him!—not?”
The word not was repeated with astonished incredulous emphasis by all voices. “Glad not to have seen Sir Walter Scott! How extraordinary! What can Mr. Beauclerc mean?”
“To make us all stare,” said Lady Davenant, “so do not gratify him. Do not wonder at him; we cannot believe what is impossible, you know, only because it is impossible. But,” continued she, laughing, “I know how it is. The spirit of contradiction—the spirit of singularity—two of your familiars, Granville, have got possession of you again, and we must have patience while the fit is on.”
“But I have not, and will not have patience,” said Lord Davenant, whose good-nature seldom failed, but who was now quite indignant.
“I wonder you are surprised, my dear Lord,” said Lady Davenant, “for Mr. Beauclerc likes so much better to go wrong by himself than to go right with all the world, that you could not expect that he would join the loud voice of universal praise.”
“I hear the loud voice of universal execration,” said Beauclerc; “you have all abused me, but whom have I abused? What have I said?”
“Nothing.” replied Lady Cecilia; “that is what we complain of. I could have better borne any abuse than indifference to Sir Walter Scott.”