Go on, my darlings. What was the dispute of Lord Kew and
Mr. Belsize, and this Mr. Sherrick?"
"It was all about pictures, and about horses, and about money, and about
one other subject which enters into every row that I ever heard of."
"And what is that, dear?" asks the innocent lady, hanging on her
husband's arm, and quite pleased to have led him to church and brought
him thence. "And what is it, that enters into every row, as you call it,
Charles?"
"A woman, my love," answers the gentleman, behind whom we have been in
imagination walking out from Charles Honeyman's church on a Sunday in
June: as the whole pavement blooms with artificial flowers and fresh
bonnets; as there is a buzz and cackle all around regarding the sermon;
as carriages drive off; as lady-dowagers walk home; as prayer-books and
footmen's sticks gleam in the sun; as little boys with baked mutton and
potatoes pass from the courts; as children issue from the public-houses
with pots of beer; as the Reverend Charles Honeyman, who has been drawing
tears in the sermon, and has seen, not without complacent throbs, a
Secretary of State in the pew beneath him, divests himself of his rich
silk cassock in the vestry, before he walks away to his neighbouring
hermitage--where have we placed it?--in Walpole Street.
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