He detached his chronometer from the chain and made his watch strike six.

To our horror, the child snatched it from his hand and bounced it down upon the ground like one would a ball.

Mr. Birks Spooner was most amiable, and said he could easily get a new glass put in, and did not suppose the works were damaged.

To show you how people’s opinions differ, Carrie said the child was bad-tempered, but it made up for that defect by its looks, for it was—­in her mind—­an unquestionably beautiful child.

I may be wrong, but I do not think I have seen a much uglier child myself.  That is my opinion.

May 30.—­I don’t know why it is, but I never anticipate with any pleasure the visits to our house of Mrs. James, of Sutton.  She is coming again to stay for a few days.  I said to Carrie this morning, as I was leaving:  “I wish, dear Carrie, I could like Mrs. James better than I do.”

Carrie said:  “So do I, dear; but as for years I have had to put up with Mr. Gowing, who is vulgar, and Mr. Cummings, who is kind but most uninteresting, I am sure, dear, you won’t mind the occasional visits of Mrs. James, who has more intellect in her little finger than both your friends have in their entire bodies.”

I was so entirely taken back by this onslaught on my two dear old friends, I could say nothing, and as I heard the ’bus coming, I left with a hurried kiss—­a little too hurried, perhaps, for my upper lip came in contact with Carrie’s teeth and slightly cut it.  It was quite painful for an hour afterwards.  When I came home in the evening I found Carrie buried in a book on Spiritualism, called there is no birth, by Florence Singleyet.  I need scarcely say the book was sent her to read by Mrs. James, of Sutton.  As she had not a word to say outside her book, I spent the rest of the evening altering the stair-carpets, which are beginning to show signs of wear at the edges.

Mrs. James arrived and, as usual, in the evening took the entire management of everything.  Finding that she and Carrie were making some preparations for table-turning, I thought it time really to put my foot down.  I have always had the greatest contempt for such nonsense, and put an end to it years ago when Carrie, at our old house, used to have seances every night with poor Mrs. Fussters (who is now dead).  If I could see any use in it, I would not care.  As I stopped it in the days gone by, I determined to do so now.

I said:  “I am very sorry Mrs. James, but I totally disapprove of it, apart from the fact that I receive my old friends on this evening.”

Mrs. James said:  “Do you mean to say you haven’t read there is no birth?” I said:  “No, and I have no intention of doing so.”  Mrs. James seemed surprised and said:  “All the world is going mad over the book.”  I responded rather cleverly:  “Let it.  There will be one sane man in it, at all events.”