"No—there seems to have been something like a riot at Darwen's church," observed the Archdeacon. "What can they expect? You don't outrage people's dearest feelings for nothing. The scandal and misery of it! Of course we shall put it down—but the Church won't recover for a generation. And all that this handful of agitators may advertise themselves and their opinions!"
Canon Dornal frowned and fidgeted.
"We must remember," he said, "that—unfortunately—they have the greater part of European theology behind them."
"European theology!" cried the Archdeacon. "I suppose you mean German theology?"
"The same thing—almost," said the Canon, smiling a little sadly.
"And what on earth does German theology matter to us?" retorted the Archdeacon. "Haven't we got theologians of our own? What have the Germans ever done but set up one mare's nest after another, for us to set right? They've no sooner launched some cocksure theory or other than they have to give it up. I don't read German," said the Archdeacon, hastily, "but that's what I understand from the Church papers."
Silence a moment. The Professor looked at the ceiling, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. The green shade concealed the Dean's expression. He also knew no German, but it did not seem necessary to say so. Canon Dornal looked uncomfortable.
"Do you see who it was that protected Darwen from the roughs outside his church?" he said presently.
Brathay looked up.
"A party of Wesleyans?—class-leaders? Yes, I saw. Oh! Darwen has always been on excellent terms with the Dissenters!"