“Yes, I believe so,” said Hardy.
“Oh, think of that! There, Katie; you had much better have stayed by me after all. A Germanizer, didn't you say? What a hard word. It must be much worse than Tractarian, isn't it, now?”
“Mary dear, pray take care; everybody will hear you,” said Miss Winter.
“I wish I thought that everybody would listen to me,” replied Miss Mary. “But I really will be quiet, Katie, only I must know which is the worst, my Tractarians or your Germanizer?”
“Oh, the Germanizer, of course,” said Tom.
“But why?” said Hardy, who could do no less than break a lance for his companion. Moreover, he happened to have strong convictions on these subjects.
“Why? Because one knows the worst of where the Tractarians are going. They may go to Rome and there's an end of it. But the Germanizers are going into the abysses, or no one knows where.”
“There, Katie, you hear, I hope,” interrupted Miss Mary, coming to her companion's rescue before Hardy could bring his artillery to bear, “but what a terrible place Oxford must be. I declare it seems quite full of people whom it is unsafe to talk with.”
“I wish it were, if they were all like Miss Winter's friend,” said Hardy. And then the crowd thickened and they dropped behind again. Tom was getting to think more of his companion and less of himself every minute, when he was suddenly confronted in the walk by Benjamin, the Jew money-lender, smoking a cigar, and dressed in a gaudy figured satin waistcoat and waterfall of the same material, and resplendent with jewelry. He had business to attend to in Oxford at this time of the year. Nothing escaped the eyes of Tom's companion.
“Who was that?” she said; “what a dreadful-looking man! Surely he bowed as if he knew you?”