suggestion, pointed with an uplifted finger--"Fooli!" Or cut down and
compressed into its essential meaning--"Fool!"

But whichever missile came handy, the effect was much the same. Juliana's
complexion grew redder or grayer, but her state of mind remained
unchanged. Sometimes the Old Lady tried a graver method.

"If you would cultivate your mind a little in the evenings you would have
no time for all this nonsense."

But Juliana had abandoned the cultivation of her mind. She made no
attempt to pay off that small outstanding debt to _Sordello._ There was
an end of the intellectual life; for the living wells of literature were
tainted; Browning had become a bitter memory and Tennyson a shame.

But if Miss Quincey had no heart for General Culture, she was busier than
ever in the discharge of her regular duties. At the end of the midsummer
term the pressure on the staff was heavy. Her work had grown with the
growth of St. Sidwell's, and the pile of marble and granite copy-books
rose higher than ever; it was monumental, and Miss Quincey was glad
enough to bury her grief under it for a time. Indeed it looked as if in
St. Sidwell's she had found the shelter where she could hide her head;
and a very desirable shelter too, as long as Mrs. Moon continued in that
lively temper. Gradually she began to realize that of all those five
hundred pairs of eyes there was none that had discovered her secret; that
not one of those busy brains was occupied with her affairs. It was a
relief to lose herself among them all and be of no account again.
In the corner behind Rhoda Vivian she and the Mad Hatter seemed to be
clinging together more than ever in an ecstasy of isolation.