“Well, suppose this house, just as it is, placed a few billion miles above a planet, and with nothing else near enough to disturb it: of course it falls _to_ the planet?” The Earl nodded. “Of course—though it might take some centuries to do it.” “And is five-o’clock-tea to be going on all the while?” said Lady Muriel. “That, and other things,” said Arthur. “The inhabitants would live their lives, grow up and die, and still the house would be falling, falling, falling! But now as to the relative weight of things. Nothing can be _heavy_, you know, except by _trying_ to fall, and being prevented from doing so. You all grant that?” We all granted that. “Well, now, if I take this book, and hold it out at arms length, of course I feel its _weight_. It is trying to fall, and I prevent it. And, if I let go, it falls to the floor. But, if we were all falling together, it couldn’t be _trying_ to fall any quicker, you know: for, if I let go, what more could it do than fall? And, as my hand would be falling too—at the same rate—it would never leave it, for that would be to get ahead of it in the race. And it could never overtake the falling floor!” “I see it clearly,” said Lady Muriel. “But it makes one dizzy to think of such things! How _can_ you make us do it?” “There is a more curious idea yet,” I ventured to say. “Suppose a cord fastened to the house, from below, and pulled down by some one on the planet. Then of course the _house_ goes faster than its natural rate of falling: but the furniture—with our noble selves—would go on falling at their old pace, and would therefore be left behind.” “Practically, we should rise to the ceiling,” said the Earl. “The inevitable result of which would be concussion of brain.” “To avoid that,” said Arthur, “let us have the furniture fixed to the floor, and ourselves tied down to the furniture. Then the five-o’clock-tea could go on in peace.” “With one little drawback!” Lady Muriel gaily interrupted. “We should take the _cups_ down with us: but what about the _tea_?” “I had forgotten the _tea_,” Arthur confessed. “_That_, no doubt, would rise to the ceiling—unless you chose to drink it on the way!” “Which, I think, is _quite_ nonsense enough for one while!” said the Earl. “What news does this gentleman bring us from the great world of London?” This drew _me_ into the conversation, which now took a more conventional tone. After a while, Arthur gave the signal for our departure, and in the cool of the evening we strolled down to the beach, enjoying the silence, broken only by the murmur of the sea and the far-away music of some fishermen’s song, almost as much as our late pleasant talk. We sat down among the rocks, by a little pool, so rich in animal, vegetable, and zoöphytic—or whatever is the right word—life, that I became entranced in the study of it, and, when Arthur proposed returning to our lodgings, I begged to be left there for a while, to watch and muse alone.