thanked heaven that she herself had not a moody disposition. Will Ladislaw was stretched on the rug contemplating the curtain-pole abstractedly, and humming very low the notes of “When first I saw thy face;” while the house spaniel, also stretched out with small choice of room, looked from between his paws at the usurper of the rug with silent but strong objection.
Rosamond bringing Lydgate his cup of tea, he threw down the paper, and said to Will, who had started up and gone to the table—
“It’s no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw: they only pick the more holes in his coat in the Trumpet .”
“No matter; those who read the Pioneer don’t read the Trumpet ,” said Will, swallowing his tea and walking about. “Do you suppose the public reads with a view to its own conversion? We should have a witches’ brewing with a vengeance then—‘Mingle, mingle, mingle, mingle, You that mingle may’—and nobody would know which side he was going to take.”