“It’s just like a golden oriole.  It isn’t red at all,” replied Miss Christie dogmatically.

“I call it red,” said John Mortimer.

“The painters consider it the finest colour possible,” continued the absent lady’s champion.

“Then let them paint her,” said John; “but—­I shall not marry her; besides,” he chose to say, “I know if I asked her she would not have me:  therefore, as I don’t mean to ask her, I shall not be such an unmannerly dog as to discuss her, further than to say that I do not wish to marry a woman who takes such a deep and sincere interest in herself.”

“Why, don’t we all do that?  I am sure I do.”

“You naturally feel that you are the most important and interesting of all God’s creatures to yourself.  You do not therefore think that you must be so to me.  Our little lives, my dear lady, should not turn round upon themselves, and as it were make a centre of their own axis.  The better lives revolve round some external centre; everything depends on that centre, and how much or how many we carry round with us besides ourselves.  Now, my father’s centre is and always has been Almighty God—­our Father and his.  His soul is as it were drawn to God and lost, as a centre to itself in that great central soul.  He looks at everything—­I speak it reverently—­from God’s high point of view.”

“Ay, but she’s a good woman,” said Miss Christie, trying to adopt his religious tone, and as usual not knowing how.  “Always going about among the poor.  I don’t suppose,” she continued with enthusiasm—­“I don’t suppose there’s a single thing they can do in their houses that she doesn’t interfere with.”  Then observing his amusement, “Ye don’t know what’s good for ye,” she added, half laughing, but a little afraid she was going too far.

“If ever I am so driven wild by the governesses that I put my neck, as a heart-broken father, under the yoke, in order to get somebody into the house who can govern as you have done,” said John, “it will be entirely your doing, your fault for leaving me.”

“Well, well,” said Miss Christie, laughing, “I must abide ye’re present reproaches, but I feel that I need dread no future ones, for if ye should go and do it, ye’ll be too much a gentleman to say anything to me afterwards.”

“You are quite mistaken,” exclaimed John, laughing, “that one consolation I propose to reserve to myself, or if I should not think it right to speak, mark my words, the more cheerful I look the more sure you may be that I am a miserable man.”

Some days after this the stately Miss Crampton departed for her Christmas holidays, a letter following her, containing a dismissal (worded with studied politeness) and a cheque for such an amount of money as went far to console her.

“Mr. Mortimer was about to send the little boys to school, and meant also to make other changes in his household.  Mr. Mortimer need hardly add, that should Miss Crampton think of taking another situation, he should do himself the pleasure to speak as highly of her qualifications as she could desire.”