ninth and concluding book, wherein ‘Aurora,’ with most unwomanly vehemence, voluntarily declares and reiterates her love for ‘Romney.’  Tennyson’s ‘Princess’ seems to me more feminine and refined and lovely than ‘Aurora’; and it is because I love and revere Mrs. Browning, and consider her not only the pride of her own sex, but an ornament to the world, that I find it difficult to forgive the unwomanly inconsistency into which she betrays her heroine.  Allow me to say that in my humble opinion nothing in the whole range of literature so fully portrays a perfect woman as that noble sketch by Wordsworth, and the inimitable description in Rogers’s ‘Human Life.’”

“The first is, I presume, familiar to all of us, but the last, I confess, escapes my memory.  Will you be good enough to repeat it?” said the editor, knitting his brows slightly.

“Excuse me, sir; it is too long to be quoted here, and it seems that I have already monopolized the conversation much longer than I expected or desired.  Moreover, to quote Rogers to an Englishman would be equivalent to ‘carrying coal to Newcastle,’ or peddling ‘owls in Athens.’”

Sir Roger smiled as he said: 

“Indeed, Miss Earl, while you spoke, I was earnestly ransacking my memory for the passage to which you allude; but I am ashamed to say, it is as fruitless an effort as ’calling spirits from the vasty deep.’  Pray be so kind as to repeat it for me.”

At that instant little Hattie crept softly to the back of Edna’s chair, and whispered: 

“Bro’ Felix says, won’t you please come back soon, and finish that story where you left off reading last night?”

Very glad to possess so good an excuse, the governess rose at once; but Mrs. Andrews said: 

“Wait, Miss Earl.  What do you want, Hattie?”

“Bro’ Felix wants Miss Earl, and sent me to beg her to come.”

“Go back and tell him he is in a hopeless minority, and that in this country the majority rule.  There are fifteen here who want to talk to Miss Earl, and he can’t have her in the schoolroom just now,” said Grey Chilton, slyly pelting his niece with almonds.

“But Felix is really sick to-day, and if Mrs. Andrews will excuse me, I prefer to go.”

She looked imploringly at the lady of the house, who said nothing; and Sir Roger beckoned Hattie to him, and exclaimed: 

“Pray, may I inquire, Mrs. Andrews, why your children do not make their appearance?  I am sure you need not fear a repetition of the sarcastic rebuke of that wit who, when dining at a house where the children were noisy and unruly, lifted his glass, bowed to the troublesome little ones, and drank to the memory of King Herod.  I am very certain ‘the murder of the innocents’ would never be recalled here, unless—­forgive me, Miss Earl! but from the sparkle in your eyes, I believe you anticipate me.  Do you really know what I am about to say?”

“I think, sir, I can guess.”