them. She had been thoroughly well grounded, and had a thirst for
knowledge too real to have been stifled by the routine she had gone
through-—though, said she, "I do want time to get on further, and to
learn what won't be of any use!"

"Of no use!" said Mr. Brownlow laughing—-having just found her trying
to make out the Old English of King Alfred's 'Boethius'-—"such as
this?"

"Just so! They always are turning me off with 'This won't be of any
use to you.' I hate use—-"

"Like Ridley, who says he reads a book with double pleasure if he is
not going to review it."

"That Mr. Ridley who came in last evening?"

"Even so. Why that opening of eyes?"

"I thought a critic was a most formidable person."

"You expected to see a mess of salt and vinegar prepared for his
diet?"

"I should prepare something quite different—-milk and sweetbreads,
I think."

"To soften him? Do you hear, mother? Take advice."

Caroline-—or Carey, as she had begged to be called-—blushed, and drew