It makes me feel quite wicked to
hear a smug parson reading the gold ring and the goodly apparel,
while the pew openers beneath are illustrating in dumb show the
very thing the apostle is pouring out the vial of his indignation
upon over their heads;--doing it calmly and without a suspicion,
for the parson, while he reads, is rejoicing in his heart over the
increasing aristocracy of his congregation. The farce is fit to
make a devil in torment laugh."
Once more, Florimel laughed aloud.
"Another revolution, Clementina, and we shall have you heading the
canaille to destroy Westminster Abbey."
"I would follow any leader to destroy falsehood," said Clementina.
"No canaille will take that up until it meddles with their stomachs
or their pew rents."
"Really, Clementina, you are the worst Jacobin I ever heard talk.
My groom is quite an aristocrat beside you."
"Not an atom more than I am. I do acknowledge an aristocracy--
but it is one neither of birth nor of intellect nor of wealth."
"What is there besides to make one?"
"Something I hope to find before long. What if there be indeed a
kingdom and an aristocracy of life and truth!--Will you or will
you not go with me to hear this schoolmaster?"
"I will go anywhere with you, if it were only to be seen with such
a beauty," said Florimel, throwing her arms round her neck and
kissing her.
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