Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose.
That is the justification of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation,
if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission to authority, hope,
charity, obedience--in fact, all the higher virtues; he can become a
handmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality, and
scepticism are rampant, we must not despise the humblest instruments."

"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson.

"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold them
out my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas.' It gives
an entirely new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in a
way that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life."

"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They all
make me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian."

"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous," murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly,
as though she were making the simplest observation.

"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was a
little movement of indignation and disgust.

Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying her daughter by this kind of
illiterate gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the good
lady always remained perfectly unconscious of having said anything
incredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:

"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one about
electricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. I
forget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses,
and I thought it very improper. I don't think it was a nice book for
Mary to read, but girls seem to read everything now."

There was a pained hush, such as naturally occurs when someone has made
a very horrible _faux pas_. They all looked at one another awkwardly;
while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes glued
to the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly was so notorious that presently
anger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came to
the rescue with a loud guffaw.

"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"

"I'm afraid I've never read one of them."

"Not?" they all cried in surprise.

"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House," said Mr. Dryland. "I have
them all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read Marie
Corelli."

This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibbo