“No-o,” said Mrs Merton-Vane, inclining her head with full corroboration of the novelty.
“I think, doctor,” said Mrs Blackwood, “that we should say that we owe the existence of our sect to a special intervention of a higher power than ours, rather than to ‘a mere accident.’”
“Yes, yes, I think so, indeed,” said Mr Billing, slightly shaking his head, and looking at the floor.
“The father of the Wesleys,” continued Dr Cassell, “is said to have viewed the — conflagration of his home with perfect calm; observing: ‘God has given me all my eight children; I am rich enough.’”
“Ah, indeed!” said Mr Billing.
“Just fancy, if he had been burnt there wouldn’t have been any Wesleyans,” said Elsa, laughing.
“Elsa, if you must talk so foolishly, you had better not talk at all,” said Mrs Blackwood.
“But, mother, it is so amusing to think of you and father without the chance of being Wesleyans,” said Elsa, with further laughter, and a knowledge of the direction of Bertram’s eyes.
“This escape in childhood made a deep impression upon John Wesley,” said Dr Cassell; continuing as if no break had occurred, though with no bitterness to Elsa; and at once attracting Mrs Cassell’s gaze. “He always regarded it as a proof of his being destined — for some especial religious mission. Later in life he inscribed under a portrait of himself the following words—‘Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?’”
“Oh, I wish my hus-band was here,” said Mrs Merton-Vane, showing appreciation.
“Did he indeed — indeed?” said Mr Billing.
“Well, Mr Billing, you have a sample of the doctor’s powers of instruction” said Mr Blackwood. “I can tell you he is one by himself on that matter. There’s not a subject under the sun, which he can’t talk about, and give you any amount of information about, at a moment’s notice. Anecdotes, facts, bits of science — it all comes as grist to his mill; I can tell you that it does.”
“You — er — you have been a great reader?” said Mr Billing, fidgeting slightly as he addressed the doctor.
“Yes — well — yes, I think I may say I have been a reader,” said Dr Cassell, making a frank effort against a smile. “From my boyhood my tastes have tended in the direction of books rather than of anything else. I am interested in a great many subjects. I do not think there is one that engrosses me to the exclusion of others; though of course medical matters have absorbed me a great deal. I think I may say that I am not like the man who was so lost in mathematics, that he forgot his own name and the date of his birth.”
“I am su-re you are not,” said Mrs Merton-Vane.
“So am I,” said Mrs Hutton, allowing her eyes to meet her husband’s.
“It is strange to think,” said Lettice, with rather conscious modesty, “that, had there been no Divine intervention to prevent the death of Wesley in childhood, there would have been such a gap in the evangelization of the world. One is apt to forget, in religious matters as in others, how large a train of events may be attached to a single incident.”
“That is just the same as I said, Letty, only put into stilted words,” said Elsa.
“You’re quite right, you’re quite right, Letty, my darling,” said Mr Blackwood.
“Yes, it is so in all things,” said Mrs Blackwood, in tones of a quality to attract attention. “Suppose Shakespeare, or Browning, or Milton had never been born, or had died in childhood! Think of the immense difference in the world of thought! We hardly realise, when we are being inspired by their finest passages, how trivial an accident might have torn them from us.”
“Mother, you never read Shakespeare, or Browning, or Milton,” said Elsa. “And if you did, you would not know which were the finest passages.”
“My dear Elsa, think what you are saying before you speak. You know quite well that Milton has always been my favourite poet. I was reading some of ‘Paradise Lost’ only the other day — the part about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and comparing it with the corresponding parts of Genesis. How very magnificent some of the passages are, are they not, Mr Billing? The language is so good, and the rhythm is always so accurate. As I was saying to Lettice, Milton’s poetry carries so many lessons in it.”
“Yes, yes, a great man — Milton,” said Mr Billing. “A sincere Christian, in addition to all that brought him worldly fame.”
“I really think,” continued Mrs Blackwood, “that if I were asked to give the palm to any one poet, I should give it to Milton. His poetry is so suggestive. In every line there is something that transports you at once to the classic days of ancient Greece and Rome. I always feel so much better informed after reading him. I do not think any other poet quite comes up to him in that.”
“My dear, you may take the credit to yourself of your view of the vocation of poetry,” said Mrs Hutton. “It is entirely your own.”
“Oh, you do not follow me, dear,” said Mrs Blackwood, in a careless tone, but continuing quickly. “Dolores, you understand what I mean, I am sure. I expect you know Milton nearly by heart, do you not? I knew a great deal when I was your age, I know; and his classical allusions must be so very illuminating to you, with your knowledge of the classical languages and mythology.”
“Yes, Dolores is the one for classics,” said the Reverend Cleveland. “She is better read in them already than many a lad of her age.”
“How nice to be so clev-er, de-ar!” said Mrs Merton-Vane.
“I suppose you and your father are great companions, Miss Hutton?” said Mr Billing, looking with heightened interest at Dolores, and reflecting that she looked just the sort of lady to be the erudite associate of a gentleman.
“Oh, I am away from home a great deal,” said Dolores, sparing her stepmother. “When I am at Millfield, my brother and I are a great deal together.”
“Oh, my dear, you and your father have always been such great friends,” said Mrs Blackwood, not neglecting the opportunity for sisterly revenge. “You have so much in common — so many tastes, and so many memories. I always think he seems quite lost when you are away.”
“He must seem rather seldom at disposal then,” said Dolores, smiling — not unconscious of Mrs Blackwood’s motive. “I am only at home for a third of the year. But I think it is only a matter of seeming. He has become quite used to my being away.”
“Cleveland is so very absent-minded,” said Mrs Hutton, with a little laugh. “Last summer he told me to ask Dolores for a book nearly a week after she had returned to school. He actually did not know whether she was in the house or not.”
“Clev-er people are always a little for-get-ful now and then,” said Mrs Merton-Vane, inclining her head towards Dolores in sympathetic explanation.
“Well, my darling, if we have all finished, suppose we go into the drawing-room,” said Mr Blackwood, loudly addressing his wife. “Open the door, Herbert, my son. Well, Vicar, as Mr Billing here is a non-smoker, and the doctor and I are the same, as we need not tell you, perhaps you will become one yourself for this evening, and join the ladies with us at once. I never believe in trying to do without the ladies, do you, Mr Billing? We owe most of what is good in ourselves and everything else to them, you know. What do you say, my love? You agree with me, I am sure.”
Mr Blackwood linked his arm in his wife’s and led the way from the room. His guests followed; with Mrs Hutton at their head, and brought up by the Reverend Cleveland; who mutely repudiated Mr Billing’s surrender of precedence, with an air that seemed to say that personally he found it no gratification to be prominent in this company. In the drawing — room Mrs Blackwood entered at once into talk with Dr Cassell.