knowledge is good; from the theory of quaternions to the way to cut a ham-frill.  It is sure to come in useful, somehow.  An authority on Central African dialects has been known to find them invaluable in altercations with cabmen, and a converted burglar has, before now, become an admirable house-agent.  What Sypher, therefore, had considered merely learned lumber in his head cemented his friendship with Cousin Jane—­or rather, to speak by the book, soldered it with pewter.  As for the Cure, however, she did not believe in it, and told him so, roundly.  She had been brought up to believe in doctors, the Catechism, the House of Lords, the inequality of the sexes, and the Oldrieve family, and in that faith she would live and die.  Sypher bore her no malice.  She did not call the Cure pestilential quackery.  He was beginning not to despise the day of small things.

“It may be very good in its way,” she said, “just as Liberalism and Darwinism and eating in restaurants may be good things.  But they are not for me.”

Cousin Jane’s conversation provided him with much innocent entertainment.  Mrs. Oldrieve was content to talk about the weather, and what Zora and Emmy used to like to eat when they were little girls:  subjects interesting in themselves but not conducive to discussion.  Cousin Jane was nothing if not argumentative.  She held views, expounded them, and maintained them.  Nothing short of a declaration from Jehovah bursting in glory through the sky could have convinced her of error.  Even then she would have been annoyed.  She profoundly disapproved of Emmy’s marriage to Septimus, whom she characterized as a doddering idiot.  Sypher defended his friend warmly.  He also defended Wiggleswick at whose ways and habits the good lady expressed unrestrained indignation.  She could not have spoken more disrespectfully of Antichrist.

“You mark my words,” she said, “he’ll murder them both in their sleep.”

Concerning Zora, too, she was emphatic.

“I am not one of those who think every woman ought to get married; but if she can’t conduct herself decently without a husband, she ought to have one.”

“But surely Mrs. Middlemist’s conduct is irreproachable,” said Sypher.

“Irreproachable?  Do you think trapesing about alone all over the earth—­mixing with all sorts of people she doesn’t know from Adam, and going goodness knows where and doing goodness knows what, and idling her life away, never putting a darn in her stockings even—­is irreproachable conduct on the part of a young woman of Zora’s birth and appearance?  The way she dresses must attract attention, wherever she goes.  It’s supposed to be ‘stylish’ nowadays.  In my time it was immodest.  When a young woman was forced to journey alone she made herself as inconspicuous as possible.  Zora ought to have a husband to look after her.  Then she could do as she liked—­or as he liked, which would be much the best thing for her.”