perfectly
unconscious how he came to know anything of either--continued to
perplex his wife, and was a source of lasting bewilderment to Sally.
A particular incident growing out of this was always associated in
Rosalind's mind with an epithet he then applied to Sally for the first
time, but which afterwards grew to be habitual with him.

"Of course, it's the Communion-table," he said in connexion with some
discussion of church furniture. "We have no altars in our church
nowadays. You're a Papist, Sarah!"

"I thought Communion-tables were an Evangelical start," said Sally
irreverently. "A Low Church turn-out. Our Mr. Prince is a Tractarian,
and a Ritualist, and a Puseyite, and an Anglican. That's his game! The
Bishop of London won't let him perform High Mass, and _I_ think it a
shame! Don't you?... But I say, Jeremiah!" And Jeremiah refrained from
expressing whatever indignation he felt with the Bishop of London, to
find what Sally said. It was to the effect that it was incredible that
he should know absolutely nothing about the original source of his
information.

"I can only tell you, Sarah dear," he said, with the ring of sadness in
his voice that always came on this topic, "that I _do_ remember nothing
of the people who taught me, or the place I learned in. Yet I know
about Tract No. 90, and Pusey and Newman, for all that. How I remember
things that were information, and forget things that were things, is
more than I can tell you. But can't you think of bits of history you
know quite well, without ever recalling where you got them from?"

"Of course I can. At least, I could if I knew some history. Only I
don't. Oh yes, I do. Perkin Warbeck and Anne of Cleves. I've forgotten
about them now, only I know I knew them both. I've answered about them
in examinations. They're history all right enough. As to who taught me
about them, couldn't say!"

"Very well, Sarah. Now put a good deal of side into your stroke, and
you'll arrive at me."

But the revival of the old question had dug up discomfort his mind had
done its best to inter; and he went silent and sat with a half-made
cigarette in his fingers thinking gravely. Rosalind, at a writing-table
behind him, moved her lips at Sally to convey an injunction. Sally,
quickly apprehensive, understood it as "Let him alone! Don't rake up
the electrocution!" But Sally's native directness betrayed her, and
before she had time to think, she had said, "All right; I won't." The
c