"But I really don't see any harm in the book so far. It is by a famous author, wonderfully well written as you know, and the characters so life-like that I feel as if I should really meet them somewhere." "I hope not!" ejaculated the doctor, shutting the book quickly, as if to keep the objectionable beings from escaping. Rose laughed, but persisted in her defence; for she did want to finish the absorbing story, yet would not without leave. "I have read French novels before, and you gave them to me. Not many to be sure, but the best; so I think I know what is good, and shouldn't like this if it was harmful." Her uncle's answer was to reopen the volume and turn the leaves an instant as if to find a particular place; then he put it into her hand, saying quietly,-- "Read a page or two aloud, translating as you go. You used to like that: try it again." Rose obeyed, and went glibly down a page, doing her best to give the sense in her purest English. Presently she went more slowly, then skipped a sentence here and there, and finally stopped short, looking as if she needed a screen again. "What's the matter?" asked her uncle, who had been watching her with a serious eye. "Some phrases are untranslatable, and it only spoils them to try. They are not amiss in French, but sound coarse and bad in our blunt English," she said a little pettishly; for she felt annoyed by her failure to prove the contested point. "Ah, my dear! if the fine phrases won't bear putting into honest English, the thoughts they express won't bear putting into your innocent mind. That chapter is the key to the whole book; and if you had been led up, or rather down, to it artfully and artistically, you might have read it to yourself without seeing how bad it is. All the worse for the undeniable talent which hides the evil so subtly and makes the danger so delightful." He paused a moment, then added with an anxious glance at the book, over which she was still bending,-- "Finish it if you choose: only remember, my girl, that one may read at forty what is unsafe at twenty, and that we never can be too careful what food we give that precious yet perilous thing called imagination." And taking his "Review" he went away to look over a learned article which interested him much less than the workings of a young mind near by. Another long silence, broken only by an occasional excited bounce from Jamie, when the sociable cuttle-fish looked in at the windows, or the "Nautilus" scuttled a ship or two in its terrific course. A bell rang, and the doctor popped his head out to see if he was wanted. It was only a message for Aunt Plenty, and he was about to pop in again when his eye was caught by a square parcel on the slab. "What's this?" he asked, taking it up. "Rose wants me to leave it at Kitty Van's when I go. I forgot to bring her book from mamma; so I shall go and get it as soon as ever I've done this," replied Jamie, from his nest.