"My son is most attentive. In course of time he will contrive to hit on
the right hour for his visit. At present, poor fellow, he interrupts me
every day."

"Suppose he hits upon the right time to-morrow?"

"Yes?"

"You might ask him if he is engaged?"

"Pardon me. I think I might wait till Philip mentions it without
asking."

"What an extraordinary man you are!"

"Oh, no, no--only a philosopher."

This tried Mrs. Staveley's temper. You know what a perfectly candid
person our friend is. She owned to me that she felt inclined to make
herself disagreeable. "That's thrown away upon me," she said: "I don't
know what a philosopher is."

Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably forgotten
to speak of my father's personal appearance. It won't take long. I need
only notice one interesting feature which, so to speak, lifts his face
out of the common. He has an eloquent nose. Persons possessing this
rare advantage are blest with powers of expression not granted to their
ordinary fellow-creatures. My father's nose is a mine of information to
friends familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like a modest
young lady's cheek. It works flexibly from side to side like the rudder
of a ship. On the present occasion, Mrs. Staveley saw it shift toward
the left-hand side of his face. A sigh escaped the poor lady. Experience
told her that my father was going to hold forth.

"You don't know what a philosopher is!" he repeated. "Be so kind as to
look at me. I am a philosopher."

Mrs. Staveley bowed.

"And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has discovered a
system of life. Some systems assert themselves in volumes--_my_ system
asserts itself in two words: Never think of anything until you have
first asked yourself if there is an absolute necessity for doing it,
at that particular moment. Thinking of things, when things needn't
be thought of, is offering an opportunity to Worry; and Worry is
the favorite agent of Death when the destroyer handles his work in a
lingering way, and achieves premature results. Never look back, and
never look forward, as long as you can possibly help it. Looking back
leads the way to sorrow. And looking forward ends in the cruelest of all
delusions: it encourages hope. The present time is the precious time.
Live for the passing day: the passing day is all that we can be sure of.
You suggested, just now, that I should ask my son if he was engaged to
be married. How d