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Girls must be tidy even if they are engaged," I said evasively.

She laughed.

'What is the matter?" she asked.

"Aunt Menelophe, I have noticed that if ever I am quiet or desire to be alone, everybody instantly jumps to the conclusion that there is something the matter with me, or that I am sickening for some illness. It is so depressing. Should I not be gabbling away at home or tearing about with Dibbs, mother invariably asks me if I have a headache. Now it is a little trying, isn't it, that I can never be quiet or enjoy a little communing with my own spirit?"

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'Because it is not natural to you. Any one can see that you are an intensely gregarious creature given the right sort of people with whom to consort; besides, stitching on braids is dull, nasty work. Parkins would have done it for you."

"I am enjoying it immensely," I said untruthfully, "and have had a lovely think."

"What have you been thinking about?" she inquired.

I hesitated.

"I have been thinking of the descent of man and the ascent of woman. I wonder how it has come about that women are so much superior to menso much bigger and broader."

Aunt Menelophe sat back in her chair and laughed. "It is not a month since I heard you express exactly

the opposite sentiments, and you say you are consistent."

"A lot has happened in a month, Aunt Menelophe,' I said. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do."

"Oh!" said Aunt Menelophe.

"Yes," I said, "that is from Emerson. Eustace read it to me last night."

"Oh!" said Aunt Menelophe again.

"I must now dress for dinner," I observed, getting up and beginning to put away my work; "but you needn't go unless you like." But Aunt Menelophe was moving slowly toward the door and she disappeared through it still repeating "Oh!" under her breath.

CHAPTER XXVII

I Receive Some Letters of Congratulation, and Eustace Again Annoys Me

W

HEN one is going to be late for breakfast at Blongton Hall, you must skip either your bath or your prayers and Bible if you desire to get down before Butterby has consumed the whole of the eggs and bacon. Butterby is so tiresomely absent-minded at meals. Now this morning I chose the latter course. For one thing, the "Children's Scripture Union" authorities have willed that its members should read the book of Numbers for its daily portion, and Numbers is not interesting; and for another-well, since I began to read all those strange books of Eustace's my prayers have not seemed so convincing as of old. It seems impossible to believe that God-no, this First Cause can be bothered listening to the requests of a foolish girl when He has so much to do and arrange in all these billions of worlds.

And yet I feel sorry, and somehow I feel lonely. It was always comforting to think that some one

was understanding when I tried to be patient with Angela. Certainly I did not try half enough, but now it seems that it won't matter at all, though Eustace says it will. He says we must do right for its own sake, and from love of humanity. If I am going to do right out of my love for Angela a precious lot I shall get done.

As I walked down the stairs to breakfast it came over me that it was the very first time in my life I had left my bedroom in a morning without saying my prayers. I had skipped them, it is true, shortened them, but I had never left them utterly unsaid. I stood irresolutely with my hand on the banisters, half inclined to turn back, when Eustace appeared. He asked me what was the matter, and why I was looking so troubled, and like a stupid I told him. My knowledge of him might have led me to realize that he could not understand how I felt-after all these years of saying my prayers-suddenly to leave them unsaid; but it hurt me so badly when he laughed. He stooped and kissed me when he saw my cheeks flame up, and put his arm round me, but I couldn't forget the laugh.

"Were your prayers such a comfort to you?" he asked, still smiling.

on.

"No," I replied, "not often," and I tried to walk

"Well, why do you feel it so much, the not saying them ?"

"Supposing," I said, "you had been in the habit of saying 'good-morning' to some one for nearly twenty years, and suddenly one day you found the person had vanished, wouldn't you feel a little lonely? Especially if there were nothing left to take that person's place."

"But that is where you make a mistake," he retorted; "there is."

I shook my head.

"There may be for clever people such as you, who are strong and self-reliant and can stand alone, but where do I come in?”

"You must lean on me, little one," he replied, again putting his arm round me, "I will help you and teach you."

"But I don't want you," I cried, wriggling away; "I want my old faith. You-you can't take the place of God to me. Can't you see? You have taken everything away from me, and in its place you offer me yourself and some difficult doctrine of which I cannot make top nor tail. I wish you had never read me that old Evolution book."

"But the theory of evolution does not necessarily take away your Christ," he said, looking deeply offended.

"It does," I snapped. "It makes me feel as though I had been standing on my head.”

"I think you want your breakfast," he replied, stalking in front of me with his head in the air, and perhaps he was right.