out God. Really, however, he was not a prig. He was very sincere. He
lived in a world of his own, in which certain figures moved which were as
familiar to him as common life, and he consequently talked about them. He
leaned in front of his wife and said to Catharine--

"Have you read much, Miss Furze?"

"No, very little."

"Indeed! I should have thought you were a reader. What have you read
lately? any stories?"

"Yes, I have read 'Rasselas.'"

"'Rasselas'! Have you really? Now tell me what you think of it."

"Oh! I cannot tell you all."

"No; it is not fair to put the question in that way. It is necessary to
have some training in order to give a proper account of the scope and
purpose of a book. Can you select any one part which struck you, and
tell me why it struck you?"

"The part about the astronomer. I thought all that is said about the
dreadful effects of uncontrolled imagination was so wonderful."

"Don't you think those effects are exaggerated?"

She lost herself for a moment, as we have already seen she was in the
habit of doing, or rather, she did not lose herself, but everything
excepting herself, and she spoke as if nobody but herself were present.

"Not in the least exaggerated. What a horror to pass days in dreaming
about one particular thing, and to have no power to wake!"

Her head had fallen a little forward; she suddenly straightened herself;
the blood rose in her face, and she looked very confused.

"I should like to preach about Dr. Johnson," said Mr. Cardew.

"Really, Mr. Cardew," interposed the elder Miss Ponsonby, "Dr. Johnson is
scarcely a sacred subject."

"I beg your pardon; I do not mean preaching on the Sabbath. I should
like to lecture about him. It is a curious thing, Miss Ponsonby, that
although Johnson was such a devout Christian, yet in his troubles his
remedy is generally nothing but that of the Stoics--courage and
patience."

Nobody answered, and an awkward pause followed. Catharine had not
recovered from the shock of self-revelation, and the Misses Ponsonby were
uneasy, not because the conversation had taken such an unusual turn, but
because a pupil had contributed. Mrs. Cardew, distressed at her
husband's embarrassment, ventured to come to the rescue.

"I think Dr Johnson quite right: when I am in pain, and nothing does me
any good, I never have anything to say to myself, excepting that I must
just be quiet, wait and bear it."

This very plain p