“Possible? But you are strangers?”
He bowed assent.
“And Americans?”
Another bow.
“Then all I ’ave to say is, that it is extror’nary! most extror’nary! I told Mr. Merryweather to give three tickets, with my compliments, to an American party I heard of—one gentleman and a couple of ladies—and I was in hopes they were providentially near my pew.”
She leaned forward, after a minute, to subjoin—“Of course, you are welcome, all the same!”
“That is one comfort!” whispered Prima, as the pew-owner settled back rustlingly into her corner. “In America we should consider her ‘very-very’ impertinent. Do circumstances and people alter cases?”
Ten minutes more and the galleries were packed by the skilled ushers, and the body of the lower floor was three-quarters full of pew-holders. We scanned them carefully and formed an opinion of the social and intellectual status of the Tabernacle congregation we saw no reason to reverse at our second and longer visit to London, two years afterward, when our opportunities of making a correct estimate of pastor and people were better than on this occasion. Caput summed it up.
“I dare affirm that eight out of ten of them misplace their h’s——”
“And say, ‘sir!’” interpolated Prima, gravely.