fault seemed incurable: she was always either repenting of it or
committing it, although, having so many quirks of her own, she felt
that she, of all people in the world, should have dealt most tenderly
with the weaknesses of others.

She knew how narrowly she escaped being sentimental, and would often
joke about her danger in that respect. "This lovely summer weather
makes me _sickly_ sentimental," she told me once. "I feel like the
heroine of a three-volume novel written by a young lady of eighteen,
and I think continually of _him_. I don't know in the least who
_he_ is, but that makes no difference. The thought of him delights
me, and I want to write long letters to him, and make verses about him
the whole day long. And he wants me to be good."

She had two or three pet abominations of her own, any allusion to which
was sure to make her outrageous--false sentiment and affectation of any
kind were amongst them. She had little habits, too, that we were all
pleased to fall in with. Sitting in the corner of a couch, and of one
couch in particular in every house, was one of these; and people got
into the way of giving up that seat to her whenever she appeared. I
think it would have puzzled us all to say why or wherefore, for she
never said or looked anything that could make us think she wished to
appropriate it; she simply took it as a matter of course when it was
offered to her, and probably did not know that she invariably sat
there. Ideala was a splendid horsewoman, and swam like a fish; but she
was not good at tennis or games of any kind, and she did not dance, for
a curious reason: she objected to be touched by people for whom she had
no special affection. She even disliked to shake hands, and often
wished some one would put the custom out of fashion. With regard to
dancing I have heard her say, too, that she sympathised entirely with