“I understand,” said Sewell. “And does Sibyl permit herself a similar excess in her fancies and ambitions?”
“Quite,” said Miss Vane. “I don't know that she consciously relies upon Lemuel to supplement her, any more than Jane does; but she must be unconsciously aware that no extravagance of hers can be dangerous while Lemuel is in the house.”
“Unconsciously aware is good. She hasn't got tired of reforming him yet?”
“I don't know. I sometimes think she wishes he had gone a little farther in crime. Then his reformation would be more obvious.”
“Yes; I can appreciate that. Does she still look after his art and literature?”
“That phase has changed a little. She thinks now that he ought to be stimulated, if anything—that he ought to read George Eliot. She's put Middlemarch and Romola on his shelf. She says that he looks like Tito Malemma.”
Sewell rose. “Well, I don't see but what your supplement is a very demoralising element. I shall never dare to tell Mrs. Sewell what you've said.”
“Oh, she knows it,” cried Miss Vane. “We've agreed that you will counteract any temptation that Lemuel may feel to abuse his advantages by the ferociously self-denying sermons you preach at him every Sunday.”
“Do I preach at him? Do you notice it?” asked Sewell nervously.
“Notice it?” laughed Miss Vane. “I should think your whole congregation would notice it. You seem to look at nobody else.”