ow
aims. It's all very well when one is _very_ young. I shouldn't like to
restrict my study in that way now. The problems of modern life are so
full of interest. There are so many books that it is a duty to read, a
positive duty. And one finds so much practical work."

"What sort of work?"

"In the social direction. I take a great interest in the condition of
the poor."

"Really?" exclaimed Lady Ogram. "What do you do?"

"We have a little society for extending civilisation among the ignorant
and the neglected. Just now we are trying to teach them how to make use
of the free library, to direct their choice of books. I must tell you
that a favourite study of mine is Old English, and I'm sure it would be
so good if our working classes could be brought to read Chaucer and
Langland and Wycliffe and so on. One can't expect them to study foreign
languages, but these old writers would serve them for a philological
training, which has such an excellent effect on the mind. I know a
family--shockingly poor living, four of them, in two rooms--who have
promised me to give an hour every Sunday to 'Piers the Plowman'--I have
made them a present of the little Clarendon Press edition, which has
excellent notes Presently, I shall set them a little examination
paper--very simple, of course."

Miss Bride's countenance was a study of subdued expression. Lady
Ogram--who probably had never heard of 'Piers the Plowman'--glanced
inquiringly at her secretary, and seemed to suspend judgment.

"We, too, take a good deal of interest in that kind of thing," she
remarked. "I see that we shall understand each other. Do your
relatives, Mr. and Mrs. Rooke, work with you?"

"They haven't quite the same point of view," said Miss Tomalin, smiling
indulgently. "I'm afraid they represent rather the old way of thinking
about the poor--the common-sense way, they call it; it means, as far as
I can see, not thinking much about the poor at all. Of course I try to
make them understand that this is neglect of duty. We have no right
whatever to live in enjoyment of our privileges and pay no heed to
those less fortunate. Every educated person is really a missionary,
whose duty it is to go forth and spread the light. I feel it so
strongly that I could not, simply could _not_, be satisfied to pursue
my own culture; it seems to me the worst kind of selfishness. The other
day I went, on the business of our society, into a dreadfully poor
home, where the people,