books? He's read everything, I suppose."

"O yes, he's _read_ enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Only sometimes it seems to me as if he hadn't read because he
loved it, but because he thought it due to himself. But maybe I'm
mistaken. I could imagine a delicate poem shutting up half its sweetness
from his cold, cold scrutiny,--if you will excuse the floweriness of the
idea."

"Why, Kitty! don't you think he's refined? I'm sure, I think he's a
_very_ refined person."

"He's a very elaborated person. But I don't think it would make much
difference to him what our opinion of him was. His own good opinion
would be quite enough."

"Is he--is he--always agreeable?"

"I thought we were discussing his mind, Fanny. I don't know that I feel
like enlarging upon his manners," said Kitty, slyly.

"But surely, Kitty," said the matron, with an air of argument, "there's
some connection between his mind and his manners."

"Yes, I suppose so. I don't think there's much between his heart and his
manners. They seem to have been put on him instead of having come out of
him. He's very well trained, and nine times out of ten he's so