‘I am afraid to do more than just advise in a pleasant way,’ said Adela. ‘Well, I shall lose my temper with her before long.’ ‘How is Harry doing? ‘Adela asked, to pass over the difficult subject. ‘He’s an idle scamp! If some one ‘ud give him a good thrashing, that’s what _he_ wants.’ ‘Shall I ask him to dinner to-morrow?’ ‘You can if you like, of course,’ Richard replied with hesitation. ‘I shouldn’t have thought you cared much about having him.’ ‘Oh, I am always very glad to have him. I have meant to ask you to let him dine with us oftener. I am so afraid he should think we neglect him, and that would be sure to have a bad effect.’ Mutimer looked at her with satisfaction, and assented to her reasoning. ‘But about the fairy tales,’ Adela said presently, when Richard had finished his cigar and was about to return to the works. ‘Do you seriously object to them? Of course I could find another book.’ ‘What do _you_ think? I am rather surprised that Wyvern suggested reading of that kind; he generally has good ideas.’ ‘I fancy he wished to give the children a better kind of amusement,’ said Adela, with hesitation. ‘A better kind, eh? Well, do as you like. I dare say it’s no great harm.’ ‘But if you really--’ ‘No, no; read the tales. I dare say they wouldn’t listen to a better book.’ It was not very encouraging, but Adela ventured to abide by the vicar’s choice. She went to her own sitting-room and sought the story that Letty had spoken of. From ‘The Ugly Duckling’ she was led on to the story of the mermaid, from that to the enchanted swans. The book had never been in her hands before, and the delight she received from it was of a kind quite new to her. She had to make an effort to close it and turn to her specified occupations. For Adela had so systematised her day that no minute’s margin was left for self-indulgence. Her reading was serious study. If ever she was tempted to throw open one of the volumes which Alice left about, a glance at the pages was enough to make her push it away as if it were impure. She had read very few stories of any kind, and of late had felt a strong inclination towards such literature; the spectacle of Alice’s day-long absorption was enough to excite her curiosity, even if there had not existed other reasons. But these longings for a world of romance she crushed down as unworthy of a woman to whom life had revealed its dread significances: and, though she but conjectured the matter and tone of the fiction Alice delighted in, instinctive fear would alone have restrained her from it. For pleasure in the ordinary sense she did not admit into her scheme of existence; the season for that had gone by. Henceforth she must think, and work, and pray. Therefore she had set herself gladly to learn German; it was a definite task to which such and such hours could be devoted, and the labour would strengthen her mini Her ignorance she represented as a