Ellen bowed in answer.
"Who wrote all this?"
Before she could speak, he had turned to the front leaf, and read, "To my little sister." He quietly put the book in his pocket, and Ellen as quietly left the room.
"I am glad you have said that," said Lady Keith. "You are quick enough when you see anything for yourself, but you never will believe other people."
"There is nothing wrong here," said Mr. Lindsay; "only I will not have her going to those old recollections she is so fond of. I wish I could make her drink Lethe!"
"What is the book?" said Mrs. Lindsay.
"I hardly know," said he, turning it over; "except it is from that person that seems to have obtained such an ascendency over her it is full of his notes it is a religious work."
"She reads a great deal too much of that sort of thing," said
Mrs. Lindsay. "I wish you would contrive to put a stop to it.
You can do it better than any one else; she is very fond of
you."
That was not a good argument. Mr. Lindsay was silent; his thoughts went back to the conversation held that evening in Ellen's room, and to certain other things; and perhaps he was thinking that if religion had much to do with making her what she was, it was a tree that bore good fruits.
"I think," said Lady Keith, "that is one reason why she takes so little to the young people she sees. I have seen her sit perfectly grave when they were all laughing and talking around her it really looks singular I don't like it I presume she would have thought it wicked to laugh with them. And the other night I missed her from the younger part of the company, where she should have been, and there she was in the other room with M. Muller and somebody else,gravely listening to their conversation!"