"Do you? Ha, ha!—well. Living commentaries, eh? and shapes of helmets. Well. What shape does it take? Why, my dear, you know of course that those expressions are figurative. I think it takes the shape of a certain composure and peace of mind which the Christian soul feels, and justly feels, in regarding the provision made for its welfare in the gospel. It is spoken of as the helmet of salvation; and there is the shield of faith; and so forth."
Eleanor felt utterly worried, and did not in the least know how to frame her next question.
"What has put you upon thinking of helmets, Miss Eleanor?"
"I was curious—" said Eleanor.
"You had some serious thoughts in your illness?" said the doctor. "Well, my dear—I am glad of it. Serious thoughts do not in the least interfere with all proper present enjoyments; and with improper ones you would not wish to have anything to do."
"May we not say that serious thoughts are the foundation of all true
present enjoyment?" said another voice. It was Mr. Rhys who spoke.
Eleanor started to hear him, and to see him suddenly in the place where
Mr. Carlisle had been, standing in the window.
"Eh? Well—no,—not just that," said Dr. Cairnes coolly. "I have a good deal of enjoyment in various things—this fair day and this fair company, for example, and Mrs. Powle's excellent cup of tea—with which I apprehend, serious thoughts have nothing to do."
"But we are commanded to do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus."
"Well—um! That is to be taken of course in its rational significance. A cup of tea is a cup of tea—and nothing more. There is nothing at the bottom of it—ha, ha!—but a little sugar. Nothing more serious."
Mr. Rhys's figure standing in the window certainly hindered a part of the light. To judge by the doctor's face, he was keeping out the whole.