"I know no question so embarrassing," began Mr. Bettifer, by way of starting the talk pleasantly, "as the question on which I have been engaged this morning--I refer to the subject of our own Personality. Here am I, and there are you--let us say two Personalities. Are we a permanent, or are we a transient thing? There is the problem, my dear sir, which I have been vainly trying to solve since breakfast-time. Can you (metaphysically speaking) be one and the same person, for example, for two moments together, any more than two successive moments can be one and the same moment?--My sister Kitty." The door opened as my host propounded this alarming dilemma, and a tall young lady glided serenely into the room. I rose and bowed. The tall young lady sank softly into a chair opposite me. Mr. Bettifer went on: "You may tell me that our substance is constantly changing. I grant you that; but do you get me out of the difficulty? Not the least in the world. For it is not substance, but----My sister Maria." The door opened again. A second tall young lady glided in, and sank into a chair by her sister's side. Mr. Bettifer went on: "As I was about to remark, it is not substance, but consciousness, which constitutes Personality. Now what is the nature of consciousness?--My sisters Emily and Jane." The door opened for the third time, and two tall young ladies glided in, and sank into two chairs by the sides of their two sisters. Mr. Bettifer went on: "The nature of consciousness I take to be that it cannot be the same in any two moments, nor consequently the personality constituted by it. Do you grant me that?" Lost in metaphysical bewilderment, I granted it directly. Just as I said yes, the door opened again, a fifth tall young lady glided in, and assisted in lengthening the charming row formed by her sisters. Mr. Bettifer murmured indicatively, "My sister Elizabeth," and made a note of what I had granted him, on the manuscript by his side. "What lovely weather," I remarked, to change the conversation. "Beautiful!" answered five melodious voices. The door opened again. "Beautiful, indeed!" said a sixth melodious voice. "My sister Harriet," said Mr. Bettifer, finishing his note of my metaphysical admission. They all sat in one fascinating row. It was like being at a party. I felt uncomfortable in my coloured trowsers--more uncomfortable still, when Mr. Bettifer's sixth sister begged that she might not interrupt our previous conversation. "We are so fond of metaphysical subjects," said Miss Elizabeth. "Except that we think them rather exhausting for dear Alfred," said Miss Jane. "Dear Alfred!" repeated the Misses Emily, Maria, and Kitty, in mellifluous chorus.