Ethelbertha shut her lips, and said something inside; and then remarked
aloud that she supposed it would be a one volume affair.

I felt hurt at the implied sneer. I pointed out to her that there
already existed a numerous body of specially-trained men employed to do
nothing else but make disagreeable observations upon authors and their
works--a duty that, so far as I could judge, they seemed capable of
performing without any amateur assistance whatever. And I hinted that,
by his own fireside, a literary man looked to breathe a more sympathetic
atmosphere.

Ethelbertha replied that of course I knew what she meant. She said that
she was not thinking of me, and that Jephson was, no doubt, sensible
enough (Jephson is engaged), but she did not see the object of bringing
half the parish into it. (Nobody suggested bringing "half the parish"
into it. Ethelbertha will talk so wildly.) To suppose that Brown and
MacShaughnassy could be of any use whatever, she considered absurd. What
could a couple of raw bachelors know about life and human nature? As
regarded MacShaughnassy in particular, she was of opinion that if we only
wanted out of him all that _he_ knew, and could keep him to the subject,
we ought to be able to get that into about a page.

My wife's present estimate of MacShaughnassy's knowledge is the result of
reaction. The first time she ever saw him, she and he got on wonderfully
well together; and when I returned to the drawing-room, after seeing him
down to the gate, her first words were, "What a wonderful man that Mr.
MacShaughnassy is. He seems to know so much about everything."

That describes MacShaughnassy exactly. He does seem to know a tremendous
lot. He is possessed of more information than any man I ever came