“It is the same with the higher-class periodicals that come to us from D’Oyley’s library,” said Lady Angleby, pointing to the brown, buff, orange, green, and purple magazines that furnished her round-table.  “The novels are well read, so are the social essays and the bits of gossiping biography; but dry chapters of exploration, science, discovery, and politics are tasted, and no more:  the first page or two may be opened, and the rest as often as not are uncut.  And as they come to Brentwood, so, but for myself, they would go away.  The young people prefer the stories, and with rare exceptions it is the same with their elders.  The fact is worth considering.  A puff of secular air, to blow away the vapor of sanctity in which the clergy envelop themselves, might be salutary at intervals.  All fresh air is a tonic.”

Mr. Jones repeated his slight grimace, and said, “Will Miss Hague be so kind as to tell me what a sermon ought to be?  I will sit at her feet with all humility.”

“With arrogant humility!—­with the pride that apes humility,” cried Miss Hague with cheerful irreverence.  “I don’t pretend to teach you sermon-making:  I only tell you that, such as sermons mostly are, precious little help or comfort can be derived from them.”

Mr. Jones again made his characteristic grimace, expressive of the contempt for secular opinion with which he was morally so well cushioned, but he had a kind heart and refrained from crushing his poor old opponent with too severe a rejoinder.  He granted that some novels might be harmless, and such as he would not object to see in the hands of his daughters; but as a general rule he had a prejudice against fiction; and as for theatres, he would have them all shut up, for he was convinced that thousands of young men and women might date their ruin from their first visit to a theatre:  he could tell them many anecdotes in support of his assertions.  Fortunately, it was three o’clock.  The butler brought in letters by the afternoon post, and the anecdotes had to be deferred to a more convenient season.  The clergyman took his leave.

Lady Angleby glanced through her sheaf of correspondence, and singled out one letter.  “From dear Lady Latimer,” she said, and tore it open.  But as she read her countenance became exceedingly irate, and at the end she tossed it over to Miss Hague:  “There is the answer to your application.”  The old lady did not raise her eyes immediately after its perusal, and Miss Burleigh took it kindly out of her hand, saying, “Let me see.”  Then Lady Angleby broke out:  “I do not want anybody to teach me what is my duty, I hope.”

Miss Hague now looked up, and Bessie Fairfax’s kind heart ached to see her bright eyes glittering as she faltered, “I think it is a very kind letter.  I wish more people were of Lady Latimer’s opinion.  I do not wish to enter the Governesses’ Asylum:  it would take me quite away from all the places and people I am fond of.  I might never see any of you again.”