"Miss Essie," he said as he brought her a cup of coffee, "where are you in the pursuit of knowledge?"
Miss Essie laughed; yet not a triumphant laugh, nor even a satisfied one; it might be considered doubtful.
"I think," she said, "you are one of a sort I don't much understand, Mr. Linden—perhaps because I don't know them much. Aren't you one of what I may call the good sort?"
Faith's laugh, which was indeed very low but unavoidable, was the first testimony.
"I hope you may—" said Mr. Linden,—"the words sound pleasant. I am not quite sure what they mean."
"Ah! There you are again!" said Miss Essie. "As difficult to catch at other things as at blind man's buff. Well I'll be frank with you, for I don't mean to offend you. I mean, the sort of people who are called 'rigidly righteous'—people who think it incumbent on them to be better than their neighbours."
"O no—" said Mr. Linden,—"I quite disclaim that. I only think it incumbent on me to be better than myself."
"Yes, but you are one of the people I mean—aren't you?"
"Not according to that term, Miss Essie. May I ask what you mean by the other?"
"Rigidly righteous?"