"Miss Essie," he said as he brought her a cup of coffee, "where are you in the pursuit of knowledge?" Miss Essie laughed; yet not a triumphant laugh, nor even a satisfied one; it might be considered doubtful. "I think," she said, "you are one of a sort I don't much understand, Mr. Linden--perhaps because I don't know them much. Aren't you one of what I may call the _good_ sort?" Faith's laugh, which was indeed very low but unavoidable, was the first testimony. "I hope you may--" said Mr. Linden,--"the words sound pleasant. I am not quite sure what they mean." "Ah! There you are again!" said Miss Essie. "As difficult to catch at other things as at blind man's buff. Well I'll be frank with you, for I don't mean to offend you. I mean, the sort of people who are called 'rigidly righteous'--people who think it incumbent on them to be better than their neighbours." "O no--" said Mr. Linden,--"I quite disclaim that. I only think it incumbent on me to be better than myself." "Yes, but you are one of the people I mean--aren't you?" "Not according to that term, Miss Essie. May I ask what you mean by the other?" "Rigidly righteous?" "Yes." "Why I told you--people that pretend to be better than people in general. People in general, you know, get on without pretending much to be good at all: and of course it's disagreeable to be brought short up at every turn with 'you ought not,' and 'you ought;' and whether it is said or acted don't make much difference. Now here's this child, a little while ago, thought she mustn't say anything was good but a minister. "Do you mean Christians?" said Mr. Linden. "Well--" said Miss Essie, "I hope we're all _Christians_--aren't we? We're not heathens." "I mean the followers of Christ. Is that what you meant? I do wear the badge of that 'Legion of Honour.'" Miss Essie looked fidgeted. Faith was letting her ice-cream melt while she listened. Mrs. Stoutenburgh in the midst of supper-table attentions gave an anxious eye and ear to the conference, which she would not interrupt. "Well now tell me what _you_ mean by that?" said Miss Essie, feeling herself in some confusion, of terms at least. "Can I find plainer words? You know what was meant by a follower in the old feudal times?" "No I don't," said Miss Essie beginning to sip her coffee again. "Tell me!" "A follower was one who binding himself to the service his lord required of him, thenceforth paid it--in peace or in war,--to the end of his life. And the terms of agreement were two-fold,--fidelity on the one side, protection on the other. 'They follow me,' says Christ, 'and I give unto them eternal life.'" "Yes, but," said Miss Essie, "do you think it is required that we should put ourselves so much out of the way to be good? I think people were meant to enjoy themselves."