“Well,” said the Rev. George, cautiously, “I do not think I have quite followed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down, as if they were projected upon the retina of your mind’s eye—to use Shakspear’s happy phrase—just as they would be upon your—your real eye, you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is an entirely mistaken one. You seem to think that she does not give in her entire adherence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matter which I venture to say you do not understand.” “Admitted,” interposed Conolly, hastily. “Here is my workman’s tea. Are you fond of scones?” “I hardly know. Anything—the simplest fare, will satisfy me.” “So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself, pray.” Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergyman ate. Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by the repast, returned to the subject of his host’s domestic affairs. “Come,” he said, “I am sure that a few judicious words would lead to an explanation between you and Marian.” “I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not be judicious words.” “Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?” “No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because the truth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the difficulty to a man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I despised her, and nothing else.” “Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; a little concession on both sides——” “All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or a mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent at the club on the man’s part, or too many dances with a gallant on the woman’s; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words: there are no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault. Besides, these few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign remedy for all sorts of domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. If I told them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make lasting truces either. No: the situation is graver than you think. Just suppose, for instance, that you undertake to restore harmony, as you call it! what will you say to her?” “Well, it would depend on circumstances.” “But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would you begin?” “There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. For instance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair so happily situated as you two should not agree perfectly.”