"Oh, but honestly--I'm not contradicting you, of course--but you did. Last Thursday fortnight, in second lesson." "I wish you were as accurate over all your dates, Louise! Your History paper was not all that it should be." "It's holidays, Miss Hartill! But don't you remember?" "I explained to you that the fourth dimension was inexplicable--a very different thing." "_The Plattner Story_ explains it--clearly." Louise's tone was distinctly reproachful. "Oh no, it doesn't, Louise. Mr. Wells only deludes you into thinking it does." "Well, anyhow, I think--don't you think that it's rather likely that fairyland is the fourth dimension? It would all fit in so beautifully with all the old stories of enchantment and disappearances. Then there was another book I read about it. _The Inheritors_----" "Have done, Louise! You make me dizzy. Don't try to live exclusively on truffles. If you could continue to confine your attention to books you have some slight chance of understanding, for the next few years, it would be an excellent thing. Neither Meredith nor the fourth dimension is meat for babes, you know." "I like what I don't understand. It's the finding out is the fun." Louise looked mutinous. "And having found out?" "Then I start on something else." Clare considered her. "Louise, I don't know if it's a compliment to either of us--but I believe we're very much alike." Louise gave a child's delighted chuckle, but she showed no surprise. "That's nice, Miss Hartill." She hesitated. "Miss Hartill, did you know my Mother?" "Mrs. Denny?" Clare hesitated. Louise gave an impatient gesture. "Not Mamma. My very own Mother." "No, my dear." Clare's voice was soft. Louise sighed. "No one does. There are no pictures. Father was angry when I asked about her once: and Miss Murgatroyd--she was our governess--she said I had no tact. I miss her, you know, though I don't remember her. I had a nurse: she told me a little. Mother had grey eyes too, you know," said Louise, gazing into Clare's. "I expect she was rather like you." She watched Clare a little breathlessly. There was more of tenderness in her face than many who thought they knew Clare Hartill would have credited, but no hint of awakening memory, of the recognition the child sought. She went on-- "People never come back when they're dead, do they?" She had no idea of the longing in her voice. "No, you poor baby!" Clare rose hastily and began to walk up and down the room, as her fashion was when she was stirred. "Never?" "'_Stieg je ein Freund Dir aus dem Grabe wieder?_'" murmured Clare. "What, Miss Hartill?" "Never, Louise." Louise's thistledown fancies were scattered by her tone. Impossible to discredit any statement of Miss Hartill's. Yet she protested timidly. "There was the Witch of Endor, Miss Hartill. Samuel, you know." "Is that Meredith?" said Clare absently. Then she caught Louise's expression. "What's the matter?" "But it's the Bible!" cried Louise horrified.