the virtues are on the side of the poor, and if there are a few vices,
you get a thousand excuses for them. No one takes account of the
temptations of the rich. You have people educated from their infancy
to imagine that the whole world was made for them, every wish they
have gratified, every day showing them people dependent on them and
grateful for favors; and no allowance is made for such a temptation to
become haughty, self-willed and overbearing. But of course it stands
to reason that the rich never have justice done them in plays and
stories, for the people who write are poor."

"Not all of them."

"But enough to strike an average of injustice. And it is very hard.
For it is the rich who buy books and who take boxes at the theatres,
and then they find themselves grossly abused; whereas the humble
peasant who can scarcely read at all, and who never pays more than
sixpence for a seat in the gallery, is flattered and coaxed and
caressed until one wonders whether the source of virtue is the
drinking of sour ale. Mr. Ingram, you do it yourself. You impress
mamma and me with the belief that we are miserable sinners if we are
not continually doing some act of charity. Well, that is all very
pleasant and necessary, in moderation; but you don't find the poor
folks so very anxious to live for other people. They don't care much
what becomes of us. They take your port wine and flannels as if
they were conferring a favor on you, but as for _your_ condition and
prospects in this world and the next, they don't trouble much about
that. Now, mamma, just wait a moment."

"I will not. You are a bad girl," said Mrs. Kavanagh severely. "Here
has Mr. Ingram been teaching you and making you better for ever so
long back, and you pretend to accept his counsel and reform yourself;
and then all at once you break out, and throw down the tablets of the
law, and conduct yourself like a heathen."

"Because I want him to explain, mamma. I suppose he considers it
wicked of us to start for Switzerland to-morrow. The money we shall
spend in traveling might have despatched a cargo of muskets to some
missionary station, so that--"

"Ceilia!"

"Oh no," Ingram said carelessly, and nursing his knee with both his
hands as usual, "traveling is not wicked: it is only unreasonable. A
traveler, you know, is a person who has a house in one town, and who
goes to live in a house in another town, in order to have the pleasure
of paying for both."

"Mr.