Gabriel, like many enlightened mortals, demurred at subjecting reason to the dogmas of a clique. He preferred to drink of the cup of spirituality without receiving it from the hands of another. He did not believe that the Light of the World descended only upon those who knelt in a particular pew.
“I have a shrewd notion,” he said to Mr. Mince, “that these poor, as we call them, often come nearer the elemental truth than wiseacres steeped in theological learning. The nursing of a sick neighbor is a better thing than the discovering of twenty metaphorical meanings in a single text. A man is wise in proportion to the breadth and sincerity of his beliefs. Nor can I see that it requires much erudition to expound faithfully the philosophy contained in the Sermon on the Mount.”
“That does not satisfy the question,” retorted the clergyman. “Ask Dr. Marjoy what he thinks of quacks who profess to practise medicine. The analogy is admirable.”
Mr. Mince withdrew behind his ecclesiastical dignity.
“You are young yet, Mr. Strong,” he said, “and young men are zealots, youth itself too Utopian. Let me advise you not to take your notions from silly novels and superficial magazines. At all events, sir, I caught William Blunt, my gardener, attending one of these outdoor meetings. The man had been my gardener ten years.”
“Reprimand him, by Jove! I pointed out to the fellow the outrageous ingratitude of his conduct, and discharged him promptly from my service.”
Gabriel smiled at the blooms of a pink azalea.
“Possibly this apostle preaches powerfully,” he said.
Mr. Mince removed his cigar from between his lips, and stared open-mouthed.
“My dear sir, as a gentleman, and as a member of my congregation, you will not countenance such an impostor within the bounds of my parish.”
“It would be a great breach of etiquette, I suppose,” he said. “Hallo, I see the others are rising. I think it is time we joined the ladies.”
In the drawing-room Judith was at the piano, accompanying herself to the quaint measure of an old song. After the gentleman had entered her place was usurped by Miss Blanche Gusset, who dashed volubly into the strenuous sentiment of a plantation ditty. In a panelled “cosey corner” Mrs. Marjoy and Mrs. Mince sat in neighborly isolation, comparing feminine criticisms. Mrs. Marjoy was a lady who possessed no single talent herself and always sneered at the accomplishments of others.