'Everything,' said the Professor, 'in our system is rigorously logical and just. If it could not be proved scientifically--if it were not absolutely certain--the system could never be accepted by the exact intellect of cultivated women. Have not Oxford and Cambridge proclaimed this from a hundred pulpits and in a thousand text-books? My dear Lady Carlyon, you yourself proved it when you took your degree in the most brilliant essay ever written.' The Countess winced. 'Must we, then,' she asked, 'cease to believe in logic?' 'Nay,' replied Professor Ingleby; 'I said not that. But every conclusion depends upon the minor premiss. That, dear Countess, in the case of our system, appears to me a little uncertain.' 'But where is the uncertainty? Surely you will allow me, my dear Professor,'--Constance smiled,--'although I am only a graduate of two years' standing, to know enough logic to examine a syllogism?' 'Surely, Constance. My dear, I do not presume to doubt your reasoning powers. It was only an expression of perplexity. We are so right, and things go so wrong.' Both ladies were silent for a few moments, and Constance sighed. 'For instance,' the Professor went on, 'we were logically right when we suppressed the Sovereignty. In a perfect State, the head must also be perfect. Whom, then, could we acknowledge as head but the Perfect Woman? So we became a pure theocracy. Then, again, we were right when we abolished the Lower House; for in a perfect State, the best rulers must be those who are well-born, well-educated, and well-bred. All this requires no demonstration. Yet----' But the Countess shook her head impatiently, and sprang to her feet. 'Enough, Professor! I am tired of debates and the battles of phrase. The House may get on without me. And I will inquire no more, even of you, Professor, into the foundations of faith, constitution, and the rest of it. I am brave, when I rise in my place, about the unalterable principles of religious and political economy: brave words do not mean brave heart. Like so many who are outspoken, which I cannot be--at least yet--my faith is sapped, I doubt.' 'She who doubts,' said the Professor, 'is perhaps near the truth.' 'Nay; for I shall cease to investigate; I shall go down to the country and talk with my tenants.' 'Do you learn much,' asked the Professor, 'of your country tenants?' The Countess laughed. 'I teach a great deal, at least,' she replied. 'Three times a-week I lecture the women on constitutional law, and twice on the best management of husbands, sons, and farm-labourers, and so forth.' 'And you are so much occupied in teaching that you never learn? That is a great pity, Constance. Do you observe?' 'I suppose I do. Why, Professor?' 'Old habits linger longest in country places. What do you find to remark upon, most of all?'