"Perhaps I am not so very obtuse as you fancy."
"At any rate, I shall not enter into detail," answered Beulah, smiling quietly at the effect of her words.
"Do you ever weary of your books?" Cornelia leaned forward, and bent a long searching look on her guest's countenance as she spoke.
"Not of my books; but sometimes, nay, frequently, of the thoughts they excite."
"A distinction without a difference," said the invalid coldly.
"A true distinction, nevertheless," maintained Beulah.
"Be good enough to explain it then."
"For instance, I read Carlyle for hours, without the slightest sensation of weariness. Midnight forces me to lay the book reluctantly aside, and then the myriad conjectures and inquiries which I am conscious of, as arising from those same pages, weary me beyond all degrees of endurance."
"And these conjectures cloud your mind?" said Cornelia, with a half- smile breaking over her face.
"I did not say so; I merely gave it as an illustration of what you professed not to understand."