‘There, Amy,’ said Charles, ‘if he has the Vicar of Wakefield among his ancient books, you need not pity him.’
‘It is like Philip,’ said Laura; ‘he was brought up on the old standard books, instead of his time being frittered away on the host of idle modern ones.’
‘He was free to concentrate his attention on Sir Charles Grandison,’ said Charles.
‘How could any one do so?’ said Guy. ‘How could any one have any sympathy with such a piece of self-satisfaction?’
‘Who could? Eh, Laura?’ said Charles.
‘I never read it,’ said Laura, suspecting malice.
‘What is your opinion of perfect heroes?’ continued Charles.
‘Here comes one,’ whispered Amy to her brother, blushing at her piece of naughtiness, as Philip Morville entered the room.
After the first greetings and inquiries after his sister, whom he had been visiting, Laura told him what they had been saying of the advantage of a scanty range of reading.
‘True,’ said Philip; ‘I have often been struck by finding how ignorant people are, even of Shakspeare; and I believe the blame chiefly rests on the cheap rubbish in which Charlie is nearly walled up there.’