"You and I are not theologians, are we, darling?" He kissed the hand. "I don't find myself prepared to swear to Meynell's precise 'words' any more than I was to Robert's. But I am ready to fight to prevent his being driven out."
"So am I!" said Rose, erect, with her hands behind her.
"We want all sorts."
"Ye-es," said Rose doubtfully. "I don't think I want Mr. Barron."
"Certainly you do! A typical product—with just as much right to a place in English religion as Meynell—and no more."
"Hugh!—you must behave very nicely to the Bishop to-night."
"I should think I must!—considering the ominum gatherum you have asked to meet him. I really do not think you ought to have asked Meynell."
"There we must agree to differ," said Rose firmly. "Social relations in this country must be maintained—in spite of politics—in spite of religion—in spite of everything."
"That's all very well—but if you mix people too violently, you make them uncomfortable."
"My dear Hugh!—how many drawing-rooms are there?" His wife waved a vague hand toward the folding doors on her right, implying the suite of Georgian rooms that stretched away beyond them; "one for every nuance if it comes to that. If they positively won't mix I shall have to segregate them. But they will mix." Then she fell into a reverie for a moment, adding at the end of it—"I must keep one drawing-room for the Rector and Mr. Norham—"