He turned away, laughing; and I, knowing nothing of Van Helmont, could not tell whether he was in jest or in earnest. At dinner some remark was made about the sermon, I think by our host. "You don't call that the gospel!" said Mrs. Cathcart, with a smile. "Why, what do you call it, Jane?" "I don't know that I am bound to put a name upon it. I should, however, call it pantheism." "Might I ask you, madam, what you understand by _pantheism_?" "Oh! neology, and all that sort of thing." "And neology is--?" "Really, Mr. Smith, a dinner-table is not the most suitable place in the world for theological discussion." "I quite agree with you, madam," I responded, astonished at my own boldness.--I was not quite so much afraid of her after this, although I had an instinctive sense that she did not at all like me. But Percy was delighted to see his mother discomfited, and laughed into his plate. She regarded him with lurid eyes for a moment, and then took refuge in her plate in turn. The colonel was too polite to make any remark at the time, but when he and I were alone, he said: "Smith, I didn't expect it of you. Bravo, my boy!" And I, John Smith, felt myself a hero. Chapter V. The light princess. Five o'clock, anxiously expected by me, came, and with it the announcement of dinner. I think those of us who were in the secret would have hurried over it, but with Beeves hanging upon our wheels, we could not. However, at length we were all in the drawing-room, the ladies of the house evidently surprised that we had come up stairs so soon. Besides the curate, with his wife and brother, our party comprised our old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield, whose previous engagement had been advanced by a few days. When we were all seated, I began, as if it were quite a private suggestion of my own: "Adela, if you and our friends have no objection, I will read you a story I have just scribbled off." "I shall be delighted, uncle." This was a stronger expression of content than I had yet heard her use, and I felt flattered accordingly. "This is Christmas-time, you know, and that is just the time for story-telling," I added. "I trust it is a story suitable to the season," said Mrs. Cathcart, smiling. "Yes, very," I said; "for it is a child's story--a fairy tale, namely; though I confess I think it fitter for grown than for young children. I hope it is funny, though. I think it is." "So you approve of fairy-tales for children, Mr. Smith?" "Not for children alone, madam; for everybody that can relish them." "But not at a sacred time like this?" And again she smiled an insinuating smile. "If I thought God did not approve of fairy-tales, I would never read, not to say write one, Sunday or Saturday. Would you, madam?" "I never do." "I feared not. But I must begin, notwithstanding."