The Verger. No, Sir, what you smell ain't incense—on'y the vaults after the damp weather we've bin 'aving.
[The Evangelical Sightseer drops behind, divided between relief and disappointment.
A Plastic S. (to the Verger). What a perfectly exquisite rose-window that is! For all the world like a kaleidoscope. I suppose it dates from the Norman period, at least?
The Verger (coldly). No. ma'am, it was on'y put up about thirty year ago. We consider it the poorest glass we 'ave.
The Plast. S. Oh, the glass, yes; that's hideous, certainly. I meant the—the other part.
The Verger. The tracery, ma'am? That was restored at the same time by a local man—and a shocking job he made of it, too!
The Plast. S. Yes, it quite spoils the cathedral, doesn't it? Couldn't it be taken down?
The Verger (in answer to another Inquirer). Crowborough Cathedral finer than this, Sir? Oh, dear me, no. I went over a-purpose to 'ave a look at it the last 'oliday I took, and I was quite surprised to find 'ow very inferior it was. The spire? I don't say that mayn't be 'igher as a mere matter of feet, but our lantern-tower is so 'appily proportioned as to give the effect of being by far the 'ighest in existence.
A Travelled S. Ah, you should see the continental cathedrals. Why, our towers would hardly come up to the top of the naves of some of them!
The Verger (loftily). I don't take no notice of foreign cathedrals, Ma'am. If foreigners like to build so ostentatious, all I can say is, I'm sorry for them.