"I was--I was speaking of man--I was speaking abstractly," said Fleda's right hand neighbour.
"What's abstractly?" said Miss Anastasia scornfully.
"Where do you get hold of such hard words, Lucy?" said Mrs. Douglass.
"I don't know, Mis' Douglass;--they come to me;--it's practice, I suppose. I had no intention of being obscure."
"One kind o' word's as easy as another I suppose, when you're used to it, ain't it?" said the sewing-woman.
"What's abstractly?" said the mistress of the house again.
"Look in the dictionary, if you want to know," said her sister.
"I don't want to know--I only want you to tell."
"When do you get time for it, Lucy? ha'n't you nothing else to practise?" pursued Mrs. Douglass.
"Yes, Mis' Douglass; but then there are times for exertion, and other times less disposable; and when I feel thoughtful, or low, I commonly retire to my room and contemplate the stars or write a composition."