The door opened as my host propounded this alarming dilemma, and a tall young lady glided serenely into the room. I rose and bowed. The tall young lady sank softly into a chair opposite me. Mr. Bettifer went on:
"You may tell me that our substance is constantly changing. I grant you that; but do you get me out of the difficulty? Not the least in the world. For it is not substance, but——My sister Maria."
The door opened again. A second tall young lady glided in, and sank into a chair by her sister's side. Mr. Bettifer went on:
"As I was about to remark, it is not substance, but consciousness, which constitutes Personality. Now what is the nature of consciousness?—My sisters Emily and Jane."
The door opened for the third time, and two tall young ladies glided in, and sank into two chairs by the sides of their two sisters. Mr. Bettifer went on:
"The nature of consciousness I take to be that it cannot be the same in any two moments, nor consequently the personality constituted by it. Do you grant me that?"
Lost in metaphysical bewilderment, I granted it directly. Just as I said yes, the door opened again, a fifth tall young lady glided in, and assisted in lengthening the charming row formed by her sisters. Mr. Bettifer murmured indicatively, "My sister Elizabeth," and made a note of what I had granted him, on the manuscript by his side.
"What lovely weather," I remarked, to change the conversation.
"Beautiful!" answered five melodious voices.
The door opened again.