rather ill-assorted, I fear--to entertain one another for a
time.

'Come here, my dear, and sit near me,' said Lady Knollys, dropping into an
easy chair with an energetic little plump, 'and tell me how you and your
papa get on. I can remember him quite a cheerful man once, and rather
amusing--yes, indeed--and now you see what a bore he is--all by shutting
himself up and nursing his whims and fancies. Are those your drawings,
dear?'

'Yes, very bad, I'm afraid; but there are a few, _better_, I think in the
portfolio in the cabinet in the hall.'

'They are by _no_ means bad, my dear; and you play, of course?'

'Yes--that is, a little--pretty well, I hope.'

'I dare say. I must hear you by-and-by. And how does your papa amuse you?
You look bewildered, dear. Well, I dare say, amusement is not a frequent
word in this house. But you must not turn into a nun, or worse, into a
puritan. What is he? A Fifth-Monarchy-man, or something--I forget; tell me
the name, my dear.'

'Papa is a Swedenborgian, I believe.'

'Yes, yes--I forgot the horrid name--a Swedenborgian, that is it. I don't
know exactly what they think, but everyone knows they are a sort of pagans,
my dear. He's not making one of _you_, dear--is he?'

'I go to church every Sunday.'

'Well, that's a mercy; Swedenborgian is such an ugly name, and besides,
they are all likely to be damned, my dear, and that's a serious
consideration. I really wish poor Austin had hit on something else; I'd
much rather have no religion, and enjoy life while I'm in it, than choose
one to worry me here and bedevil me hereafter. But some people, my dear,
have a taste for being miserable, and provide, like poor Austin, for its
gratification in the next world as well as here. Ha, ha, ha! how grave the
little woman looks! Don't you think me very wicked? You know you do; and
very likely you are right. Who makes your dresses, my dear? You _are_ such
a figure of fun!'

'Mrs. Rusk, I think, ordered _this_ dress. I and Mary Quince planned it. I
thought it very nice. We all like it very well.'

There was something, I dare say, very whimsical about it, probably very
absurd, judged at least by the canons of fashion, and old Cousin Monica
Knollys, in whose eye the London fashions were always fresh, was palpably
struck by it as if it had been some enormity against anatomy, for she
certainly laughed very heartily; indeed, there were tears on her cheeks
when she had done, and I am sure my aspect