e," Henriette suggested. But
this paradox Hadria could not entertain. "Take care of the colds, and
the fresh air will take care of itself," was her general maxim.

"But, my dear Hadria, do you mean to tell me that the people about here
are so benighted as really not to understand the importance to the
system of a constant supply of pure air?"

Hadria puckered up her brow, as if in thought. "Well," she said,
"several mothers _have_ mentioned it, but they take more interest in
fluid magnesia and tonics."

Henriette looked dispirited.

At any rate, there was no reason why Hadria should not be more
enlightened than her neighbours, on these points. Hadria shook her head
deprecatingly. She hoped Henriette would not mind if she quoted the
opinion of old Mr. Jordan, whose language was sometimes a little strong.
He said that he didn't believe all that "damned nonsense about fresh air
and drains!" Henriette coughed.

"It is certainly not safe to trust entirely to nurses, however devoted
and experienced," she insisted. Hadria shrugged her shoulders. If the
nurse _did_ constitutionally enjoy a certain stuffiness in her
nurseries--well the children were out half the day, and it couldn't do
them much harm. (Hadria bent low over her embroidery.)

The night?

"Oh! then one must, of course, expect to be a little stuffy."

"But," cried Miss Temperley, almost hopeless, "impure air breathed,
night after night, is an incessant drain on the strength, even if each
time it only does a little harm."

Hadria smiled over her silken arabesques. "Oh, nobody ever objects to
things that only do a little harm." There was a moment of silence.

Henriette thought that Hadria must indeed have changed very much during
the last years. Well, of course, when very young, Hadria said, one had
extravagant notions: one imagined all sorts of wild things about the
purposes of the human brain: not till later did one realize that the
average brain was merely an instrument of adjustment, a sort of
spirit-level which enabled its owner to keep accurately in line with
other people. Henriette ought to rejoice that Hadria had thus come to
bow to the superiority of the collective wisdom.

But Henriette had her doubts.

Hadria carefully selected a shade of silk, went to the light to reassure
herself of its correctness, and returned to her easy chair by the fire.
Henriette resumed her knitting. She was making stockings for her
nephews.

"Henriette, don't you