“I have had better opportunities of observing it than most people,” Mr. Barren replied, with one of his saddest amused smiles.  “I have come to the conclusion that the person we know best is the one whom we never understand.”

“You answer me with a paradox.”

“Is it not the natural attendant on an assumption?”

“What assumption?”

“That you know a person thoroughly.”

“May we not?”

“Do you, when you acknowledge this ’complete mystification’?”

“Yes.”  Cornelia smiled when she had said it.  “And no.”

Mr. Barrett, with his eyes on her, laughed softly.  “Which is paradox at the fountain-head!  But, when we say we know any one, we mean commonly that we are accustomed to his ways and habits of mind; or, that we can reckon on the predominant influence of his appetites.  Sometimes we can tell which impulse is likely to be the most active, and which principle the least restraining.  The only knowledge to be trusted is a grounded or scientific study of the springs that move him, side by side with his method of moving the springs.  If you fail to do this, you have two classes under your eyes:  you have sane and madman:  and it will seem to you that the ranks of the latter are constantly being swollen in an extraordinary manner.  The customary impression, as we get older, is that our friends are the maddest people in the world.  You see, we have grown accustomed to them; and now, if they bewilder us, our judgement, in self-defence, is compelled to set them down lunatic.”

Cornelia bowed her stately head with gentle approving laughter.

“They must go, or they despatch us thither,” she said, while her fair face dimpled into serenity.  The remark was of a lower nature than an intellectual discussion ordinarily drew from her:  but could Mr. Barrett have read in her heart, he might have seen that his words were beginning to rob that organ of its native sobriety.  So that when he spoke a cogent phrase, she was silenced, and became aware of a strange exultation in her blood that obscured grave thought.  Cornelia attributed this display of mental weakness altogether to Mr. Barrett’s mental force.  The interposition of a fresh agency was undreamt of by the lady.

Meanwhile, it was evident that Mr. Pole was a victim to one of his fevers of shyness.  He would thrum on the table, frowning; and then, as he met the look of one of the ladies, try to disguise the thought in his head with a forced laugh.  Occasionally, he would turn toward them, as if he had just caught a lost idea that was peculiarly precious.  The ladies drawing up to attend to the communication, had a most trivial matter imparted to them, and away he went.  Several times he said to them “You don’t make friends, as you ought;” and their repudiation of the charge made him repeat:  “You don’t make friends—­home friends.”

“The house can be as full as we care to have it, papa.”