“Unfriended.” “Solitary.” “Slow.” “And, best of all, hitherto untried.” “Yes, its novelty is undeniable.” “So much so,” said Mrs. Thornton, “that it overwhelms one. It is a bright, original idea, and in these days of commonplace is it not creditable? The idea is mine, Sir, and I will match it with your--what?--your Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Cosmogony.” “Economy.” “But Cosmogony is better. Allow me to suggest it by way of a change.” “It must be so, since you say it; but I have a weakness for the word Economy. It is derived from the Greek--” “Greek!” exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, raising her hands. “You surely are not going to be so ungenerous as to quote Greek! Am I not a lady? Will you be so base as to take me at a disadvantage in that way?” “I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, and you may consider that a tacit apology is going on within my mind whenever I see you.” “You are forgiven,” said Mrs. Thornton. “I can not conceive how I could have so far forgotten myself. I do not usually speak Greek to ladies. I consider it my duty to make myself agreeable. And you have no idea how agreeable I can make myself, if I try.” “I? I have no idea? Is it you who say that, and to me?” exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, in that slight melodramatic tone which she had employed thus far, somewhat exaggerated. “After what I told you--of my feelings?” “I see I shall have to devote all the rest of my life to making apologies.” “No. Do not make apologies. Avoid your besetting sins. Otherwise, fond as I am of you”--and she spoke with exaggerated solemnity--“I must regard you as a failure.” The conversation went on uninterruptedly in this style for some time. It appeared to suit each of them. Despard’s face, naturally grave, assisted him toward maintaining the mock-serious tone which he chose to adopt; and Mrs. Thornton’s peculiar style of face gave her the same advantage. It pleased each to express for the other an exaggerated sentiment of regard. They considered it banter and badinage. How far it was safe was another thing. But they had known one another years before, and were only resuming the manner of earlier times. Yet, after all, was it safe for the grave Rector of Holby to adopt the inflated style of a troubadour in addressing the Lady of Thornton Grange? Neither of them thought of it. They simply improved the shining hour after this fashion, until at length the conversation was interrupted by the opening of folding-doors, and the entrance of a servant who announced--dinner. On entering the dining-room Despard was greeted with respectful formality by the master of the house. He was a man of about forty, with the professional air of the lawyer about him, and an abstracted expression of face, such as usually belongs to one who is deeply engrossed in the cares of business. His tone, in spite of its friendliness, was naturally stiff, and was in marked contrast to the warmth of Mrs. Thornton’s greeting.