ideal education of an English nobleman, in the middle of the last
century."

"The Fool of Quality?" said Mellot. "Of course! I thought I had heard
the story before. What a well-written book it is, too, in spite of all
extravagance and prolixity. And how wonderfully ahead of his generation
the man who wrote it, in politics as well as in religion!"

"I must read it," said Valencia. "You must lend it me, Saint Père."

"Not yet, I think."

"Why?" whispered she, pouting. "I suppose I am not as pure as Grace
Harvey?"

"She has the children to educate, who are in daily contact with coarse
sins, of which you know nothing--of which she cannot help knowing. It
was written in an age when the morals of our class (more shame to us)
were on the same level with the morals of her class now. Let it alone. I
often have fancied I should edit a corrected edition of it. When I do,
you shall read that."

"Now, Miss Harvey," said Mellot, who had never taken his eyes off her
face, "I want to turn schoolmaster, and give your children a drawing
lesson. Get your slates, all of you!"

And taking possession of the black board and a piece of chalk, Claude
began sketching them imps and angels, dogs and horses, till the school
rang with shrieks of delight.