I could not help laughing.

“However, Isobel, we may be sure of this, people of soft, gentle temperaments have their own difficulties with their own souls which we escape.  Perhaps in the absence of such marked vices as bring one to open shame one might be slower to undertake vigorous self-improvement.  You and I have no difficulty in seeing the sin lying at our door.”

“N—­no,” said I.

“Well, have you?” said Aunt Isobel, facing round.  “Bless me,” she added impetuously, “don’t say you haven’t if you have.  Never let any one else think for you, child!”

“If you’ll only have patience and let me explain—­”

“I’m patience its very self!” interrupted my aunt, “but I do hate a No that means Yes.”

My patience began to evaporate.

“There are some things, Aunt Isobel, you know, which can’t be exactly squeezed into No and Yes.  But if you don’t want to be bothered I won’t say anything, or I’ll say yes or no, which ever you like.”

And I kicked the shovel. (My aunt had shoved the poker with her slipper.) She drew her foot back and spoke very gently: 

“I beg your pardon, my dear.  Please say what you were going to say, and in your own way.”

There is no doubt that good-humour—­like bad—­is infectious.  I drew nearer to Aunt Isobel, and fingered the sleeve of her dress caressingly.

“You know, dear Aunt Isobel, that I should never think of saying to the Rector what I want to say to you.  And I don’t mean that I don’t agree to whatever he tells us about right and wrong, but still I think if one can be quite convinced in the depths of one’s own head, too, it’s a good thing, as well as knowing that he must be right.”

“Certainly,” said Aunt Isobel.

“To begin with, I don’t want you to think me any better than I am.  When we were very very little, Philip and I used to spit at each other, and pull each other’s hair out.  I do not do nasty or unladylike things now when I am angry, but, Aunt Isobel, my ‘besetting sin’ is not conquered, it’s only civilized.”

“I quite agree with you,” said Aunt Isobel; which rather annoyed me.  I gulped this down, however, and went on: 

“The sin of ill-temper, if it is a sin,” I began.  I paused, expecting an outburst, but Aunt Isobel sat quite composedly, and fingered her eyelashes.

“Of course the Rector would be horrified if I said such a thing at the confirmation-class,” I continued, in a dissatisfied tone.

“Don’t invent grievances, Isobel, for I see you have a real stumbling-block, when we can come to it.  You are not at the confirmation-class, and I am not easily horrified.”

“Well, there are two difficulties—­I explain very stupidly,” said I with some sadness.

“We’ll take them one at a time,” replied Aunt Isobel with an exasperating blandness, which fortunately stimulated me to plain-speaking.