, and that she
should ask Mrs Tiliot where it was in Duffield that she once got her
bed-hangings dyed so beautifully. When Mrs Tiliot was Mary Salt, the two ladies
had been bosom friends; but Mr Tiliot had looked higher and higher since his gin
had become so famous; and in the year '29 he had, in Mr Muscat's hearing, spoken
of Dissenters as sneaks, - a personality which could not be overlooked.
    The debate was to begin at eleven, for the rector would not allow the
evening to be chosen, when low men and boys might want to be admitted out of
mere mischief. This was one reason why the female part of the audience
outnumbered the males. But some chief Trebians were there, even men whose means
made them as independent of theory as Mr Pendrell and Mr Wace; encouraged by
reflecting that they were not in a place of worship, and would not be obliged to
stay longer than they chose. There was a muster of all Dissenters who could
spare the morning time, and on the back benches were all the aged churchwomen
who shared the remnants of the sacrament wine, and who were humbly anxious to
neglect nothing ecclesiastical or connected with going to a better place.
    At eleven the arrival of listeners seemed to have ceased. Mr Lyon was seated
on the school tribune or daïs at his particular round table; another round
table, with a chair, awaited the curate, with whose superior position it was
quite in keeping that he should not be first on the ground. A couple of extra
chairs were placed further back, and more than one important personage had been
requested to act as chairman; but no churchman would place himself in a position
so equivocal as to dignity of aspect, and so unequivocal as to the obligation of
sitting out the discussion; and the rector had beforehand put a veto on any
Dissenting chairman.
    Mr Lyon sat patiently absorbed in his thoughts, with his notes in minute
handwriting lying before him, seeming to look at the audience, but not seeing
them. Every one else was contented that there should be an interval in which
there could be a little neighbourly talk.
    Esther was particularly happy, seated on a side-bench near her father's side
of the tribune, with Felix close behind her, so that she could turn her head and
talk to him. He had been very kind ever since that morning when she had called
at his home, more disposed to listen indulgently to what she had to say, and
less blind to her looks and movements. If he had never railed at her or ignored