"Hideous, my dear!—'tis plain you never saw him."
"He's like the bravo of Venice," said Louise; "isn't he, Cecil?"
"He's more like Guy Faux," said the gentleman appealed to.
"He's like a gipsy fortune-teller," continued Miss Smith.
"Uncommon like a 'ousebreaker," chimed in Mr Cocker: "I never see such a rascally-looking countenance."
"Are you aware, all this time, that you are giving these descriptions of a friend of mine,—a most learned, lofty, reverend—but, pshaw! what nonsense it is, getting angry with folks like you. Eagles should fight with eagles."
But the lofty assumptions of Mr Bullion made no impression on his audience. One word, however, had stuck in the tympanum of Miss Smith's ear, and was beating a tremendous tattoo in her heart—
"Reverend, did you say, brother-in-law. If that little man is reverend, mark my words. I know very well what he's after. If we're not all spirited off to the Disquisition in Spain, I wish I may never be marr—I mean—saved."
"Nonsense, aunt," said Louise. "You're not going to turn Dissenter, father?"
"Better that than be a Papist, anyhow," sulked out Lucretia.