"Yes and no. Why don't you like it?"
"You mustn't ask me for my reasons. It is not merely disagreeable, but hateful."
"And you've been beside me, like a Christian, all this time, and I had it!"
"The perfume is acrid; I associate it with the lower jaw of St. Basil the Great, styled a present of immense value, you remember,—being hard, heavy, shining like gold, the teeth yet in it, and with a smell more delightful than amber,"—making a mock shudder at the word.
"Oh, it is prejudice, then."
"Not in the least. It is antipathy. Besides, the thing is unnatural; there is no existent cause for it. A bit that turns up on certain sands,—here at home, for aught I know, as often as anywhere."
"Which means Nazareth. We must teach you, Sir, that there are some things at home as rare as those abroad."
"I am taught," he said, very low, and without looking up.
"Just tell me, what is amber?"
"Fossil gum."