cause she has genius, my dear," put in the Vicar. "Some minds are
so contemptibly small that they are simply crushed by greatness. It
requires an eagle to look at the sun."

And the excellent people looked at one another with a certain
self-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birds
in face of that brilliant orb.

"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has said
herself that there is a vile conspiracy to blacken her, and for my part
I am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because she
dares to show them up."

"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists," added Mr.
Dryland, "and they are as envious as they can be."

"It makes one boil with indignation," cried Mary, "to think that people
can be so utterly base. Those who revile her are not worthy to unloose
the latchet of her shoes."

"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration," replied the
curate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always been
persecuted. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just as
they abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered. But time has
vindicated our immortal William; time will vindicate as brightly our
gentle Marie."

"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!"
meditatively said the Vicar.

"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we could
all read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it three
times, and each perusal leaves me more astounded. Miss Corelli has her
revenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling of
critics when the wreath of immortality is on her brow. I don't hesitate
to say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli every
bit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the matter
carefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know something
about. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language,
she's every bit his equal."

"Her language is beautiful," said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feel
just as if I were listening to hymns."

"And where, I should like to know," continued the curate, raising his
voice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery of
portraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"

"And there is one thing you must never forget," said the Vicar, gravely,
"she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none of
Shakespeare's plays.