our standard, and
you are a righteous saint; but may not sinners sometimes speak to
saints? How else are they to be made better, "I want to know," as the
Americans say? Do you attend chapel, Miss Thorn?'

'No,' I answered a little shortly.

'I went into a chapel once,' she pursued, looking gravely at me, 'and
there was a revival going on, I was told. That is what led me in
there--I wanted to see a revival! After the sermon was over, an old
white-haired man came stumbling into the seat where I was, and sat down
beside me. "Young pusson," he said, "do you want to be convarted?"
"What does it feel like?" I asked. He rose up, and stood swelling out
his waistcoat visibly. "It feels as if earth can't contain yer at
times, and 'even's only big enough for yer." "Thank you," I said; "I
shouldn't care to feel that size. Earth is big enough for me at
present," and I walked out.'

A burst of laughter from behind announced that the gentlemen had
entered the room. Kenneth came up to us, and planted himself on the
hearthrug in front of us.

'Are you treating Goody Two-Shoes to one of your stories?' he asked.

'We are having a very serious conversation,' said Miss Willoughby, in
her clear, loud voice, 'and do not wish to be interrupted. Now, Miss
Thorn, is your experience like that of the old chapel saint? I have
always heard that the godly were very big in their own estimation, but
never quite so big as that I How big do you feel? Tell us. I have a
fancy, if I were to try to attain to it, that it would be the old fable
of the toad and the ox again being enacted. What is your opinion?'

'It is not a subject for jesting,' I said gravely; and I rose from my
seat to move away. She laughingly caught hold of both my hands and
detained me.

'Now you are my prisoner, and I shall not let you escape till you have
answered a few questions. I have been doing my best to become
acquainted with you, but you listen and reply in monosyllables, which
is most unsociable. You leave me to do all the talking, and I want to
hear your side of the question. Is she always so silent, Kenneth?'

'Silence marks her displeasure,' Kenneth replied, laughing.

'I don't like sulky natures,' Miss Willoughby went on provokingly,
without giving me time to speak. 'I don't think she is shy, and I have
said nothing to displease her. My object has been to become friends
with her, but I'm afraid she thinks me too unworthy of her friendship.
Now