‘Somebody has written an essay, that I read lately,’ Dr. Maryland went on—­’an essay on the monotony of piety.  Poor man! he did not know what he was talking about.  The glorious liberty of the children of God!—­that was something beyond his experience;—­and the joy of their service.  It is what redeems everything else from monotony.  It glorifies what is insignificant, and dignifies what is mean, and lifts what is low, and turns the poor little business steps of every day into rounds of Heaven’s golden ladder.  I verily think I could have hanged myself long ago, for the very monotony of all things else, if it had not been for the life and glory of religion!’

‘Why papa!’ said Primrose.

‘I would, my dear, I do think.’  He was silent a moment; then subsiding from the excited fire with which he had spoken, he turned to Wych Hazel and went on gently,—­

’What else do you want to do, my dear, that is not to be done in that track? you want adventures?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she answered, without looking up, half hesitating, a little grave.  ’I think I do.  And more people about,—­people to love me, and that I can love.  Of course I love Mr. Falkirk,’ she added, correcting herself, ’very much; but that is different.  And there’s nobody else but the servants.’

‘O do come here!’ cried Primrose; ‘and love us.’

‘I do not wonder Mr. Falkirk gives no help,’ said Rollo, a little quizzically.

‘Will you try Primrose’s expedient, my dear?’ said Dr. Maryland, very benignly.  ’Half your requisition you will certainly find.  Whether you can love us, I don’t know; but there’s no knowing without trying.’

She gave one of her sweet childish looks of answer to both the first and last speaker; but Mr. Rollo was favoured with a small reproof.

‘You must not speak so of Mr. Falkirk,’ she said.  ’He has been the kindest possible friend to me.  And I think he loves me wonderfully, considering how I have tried his patience.  Just think what it is for a grave, quiet, grown-up, sensible man, to have the plague of a girl like me!  Very few men would stand it at all, Mr. Roll; but Mr. Falkirk never said a rough word to me in his life.’

She was so grave, so innocent, so ignorant in it all, the effect was indescribably funny.

‘I should think very few men would stand it,’ said Rollo, composedly; but Primrose and her father smiled.

‘Mr. Falkirk is an admirable man,’ said Dr. Maryland.  ’You are a good witness for him, Hazel.’

‘If I would only do all he wants me to!’ she said with a slight shake of the head.  ’But I cannot, and he says I don’t know what I want.  But Dr. Maryland—­all the nice, proper people I have ever seen, live on such a dead level—­it would kill me.  They think dancing is wrong, and Italian a loss of time, and “it’s a pity to waste my young years upon German.”  And they can’t talk of a book, but some life of a missionary who was eaten by cannibals,—­I