Mrs. Van Dieman did not seem to understand about my district, and when I explained again she said it was quite different with that sort of people; they had no one to advise them, and it made a break in the day having some one to take an interest. All the same, I thought I would persevere. There ought not to be one law for the rich and another for the poor, so I said I would continue my visits, and hoped to find her in a better frame of mind next time I called. I then went to the rector’s house and was shown into his study. He was busy doing accounts. “Ah, good morning, rector,” I said, “glad to see you at work. I just called round to have a chat with you. Now tell me, do you find yourself well and satisfactorily shepherded here?” “Pardon me, I think there must be some mistake,” said my dear Mr. Tracy. “No, indeed,” I said, “no mistake. I only wanted to be a help, if possible. You are in my district, you know, and it is my duty to find out if your spiritual welfare is being attended to. I should be sorry if you suffered from neglect of anything I could do to help or advise.” “It is very good of you, Mrs. Molyneux,” he replied, though he seemed rather embarrassed. “Of course, I am only too grateful for any assistance, but, indeed, I hardly understand----” “Well, then,” I said, “let us sit down and talk it over. Do you find you get enough mental stimulus in the town?” “Do you mean that there is a lack of culture?” he asked. “Because if so you have put your finger on the weakest point in our society. I find an extraordinary lack of enthusiasm for anything really great in literature or painting or music. It is quite deplorable; it has evidently struck you----” “It has, indeed.” (This was the most successful visit I had paid.) “I should be so glad if there were anything in that direction that I could throw light upon for you.” “I didn’t know that you were an authority on these things, Mrs. Molyneux,” he said, greatly impressed. “I am not,” I answered. “I don’t know anything about any of them, but you are in my district, so I was bound to come and take an interest in you, wasn’t I?” The dear thing was so nice about it, and talked so charmingly about the Pre-Raphaelites, and the _Saturday Review_, and the ungracefulness of crinolines, that I felt there was no room in him for improvement, so I would go to some more deserving case. I called next upon Mr. Figgins who writes books. I found him writing in his study. “Good afternoon, Figgins, hard at work as usual,” I began. He was very nice to me, and pretended he was not at all busy, so I sat down on the edge of my chair, and looked about. “This is my day for the district,” I said, “and I knew I should find you at home just now. I suppose you are beginning to make plenty of money with your books? I hope you are putting some of it by.” Mr. Figgins looked at me rather curiously, and said he would order tea.