“Great truths come out,” answered John, quite placidly, “at periods of mental commotion. But why, oh Doxy, and whence this inopine hurry–scurry? There is no classic expression—except perhaps in Aristophanes—of prosody quick enough; and, doubtless, for very good reason, because the people were too wise to hurry so. ‘Rumpe moras,’ for instance, is rather suggestive of——” “Oh, John! oh, John! even at such a moment, John! I believe youʼll die in Latin or Greek—and I donʼt know which Amen is, only I donʼt believe itʼs English—there, I am as bad as you are to discuss such a question now. And I am quite sure Jenny canʼt tell a good story soundly. And he has got such ferret eyes! Thank Heaven, the key was inside, John.” Poor Miss Doxy was panting so, that her brother was quite frightened for her; and the more so because he had no idea what there was to be frightened at. “Why, Doxy,” he said, “my darling, he need never see that you have cut me.” “As if I cared for that! Oh, John, my dearest brother, heʼll see _that Iʼve cut your hair_!” The idea struck John Rosedew as so gloriously novel—that man who knew the world so!—to him it appeared such a mountain of wonder that a sister should want to sink through the floor, for having saved her brother from barberism, that he laughed as hard as any man of real humour ever laughs. Miss Doxy stole on the opportunity, when he sat down to have his laugh out, to dust all the white hair with her handkerchief from his coat–collar. Suddenly John Rosedew got up, and his laugh went away in gravity. He walked to the door more heavily than was natural to him (lest he should seem to go falsely), unlocked and unbolted it, and in his most stately manner marched into the hall. Jenny was telling a “jolly lie”—jollity down below, I suppose—to Mr. Rufus Hutton; she was doing it very clumsily, not “oculo irretorto.” “Please, sir, yes, my master is gone round the parish, sir; and the rest, they be at the school, sir. How sorry they will be, to be sure, to hear that you have called, sir, and all of them out of the way so!” “No, they wonʼt,” said Mr. Rosedew, looking over her head; “the only thing I am sorry for, Jenny, is that you can tell a falsehood so. But the fault is not yours only. I will talk to you by–and–by. Dr. Hutton, come in, if you please. I was having my hair cut by my sister, Miss Rosedew. You have met her before. Eudoxia, Dr. Hutton is kind enough to come and see us. I have told him how good and how sisterly you have been to me, and I am sure that he must wish to have a sister so capable—that is to say if he has not,” added John, who was very particular about his modal and temporal prefix.