"They are all of my sort," said Diana somewhat wonderingly.
"Do you know what your sort is, my dear?"
"I do not understand"—
"I thought you did not. I'll change my question. What sort of work is
Basil doing there?"
"You know his profession?"—Diana said, not knowing much better either how to take this question.
"Yes, yes. I know his profession; I ought to, for I wanted him to be a lawyer. But don't you know, my dear, there are all sorts of clergymen? There are some make sermons as other men make bricks; and some more like the way children blow soap-bubbles; all they care for is, how big they are, and how high they will fly, and how long they will last. And I have heard people preach," the old lady went on, "who seemed most like as if they were laying out a Chinese puzzle, and you had to look sharp to see where the pieces fitted. And some, again, preach sermons as if they were a magistrate reading the Riot Act, only they don't want the people to disperse by any means. What is Basil's way?"
"He has more ways than all these," said Diana, who could not help smiling.
"These among 'em?"
"I think not."
"Go on, then, and tell me. What's he like in the pulpit?"