"They think we are talking about going regularly to church, and supporting picture-galleries, and making brilliant matches," suggested Christopher. "Yes; that's exactly what they do think; and it makes talking to them so difficult, and so dull." "When you use the word _happiness_ they imagine you are referring to an income of four or five thousand a year; and by _success_ they mean the permission to stand in the backwater of a fashionable London evening party, looking at the mighty and noble, and pretending afterward that they have spoken to the same." "They don't speak our language or think our thoughts," Elisabeth said; "and the music of their whole lives is of a different order from that of the lives of the fourth-dimension people." "Distinctly so; all the difference between a Sonata of Beethoven and a song out of a pantomime." "I haven't much patience with the three-dimension people; have you?" asked Elisabeth. "No--I'm afraid not; but I've a good deal of pity for them. They miss so much. I always fancy that people who call pictures pretty and music sweet must have a dreary time of it all round. But we'd better be getting on, don't you think? It is rather chilly sitting out-of-doors, and I don't want you to catch cold. You don't feel cold, do you?" And Christopher's face grew quite anxious. "Not at all." "You don't seem to me to have enough furbelows and things round your neck to keep you warm," continued he; "let me tie it up tighter, somehow." And while he turned up the fur collar of her coat and hooked the highest hook and eye, Elisabeth thought how nice it was to be petted and taken care of; and as she walked homeward by Christopher's side, she felt like a good little girl again. Even reigning monarchs now and then like to have their ermine tucked round them, and to be patted on their crowns by a protecting hand. As the weeks rolled on and the spring drew nearer, Elisabeth gradually took up the thread of human interest again. Fortunately for her she was very busy with plans for the benefit of the work-people at the Osierfield. She started a dispensary; she opened an institute; she inaugurated courses of lectures and entertainments for keeping the young men out of the public-houses in the evenings; she gave to the Wesleyan Conference a House of Rest--a sweet little house, looking over the fields toward the sunset--where tired ministers might come and live at ease for a time to regain health and strength; and in Sedgehill Church she put up a beautiful east window to the memory of Maria Farringdon, and for a sign-post to all such pilgrims as were in need of one, as the east window in St. Peter's had once been a sign-post to herself showing her the way to Zion. In all these undertakings Christopher was her right hand; and while Elisabeth planned and paid for them, he carefully carried them out--the hardest part of the business, and the least effective one.