or one knows not how to define it, I cannot help being uncomfortable in having to do this,—­it is impossible.  Not that I distrust you—­you are the last in the world I could distrust:  and then (although you may be sceptical) I am naturally given to trust ... to a fault ... as some say, or to a sin, as some reproach me:—­and then again, if I were ever such a distruster, it could not be of you.  But if you knew me—!  I will tell you! if one of my brothers omits coming to this room for two days, ...  I never ask why it happened! if my own father omits coming up-stairs to say ‘good night,’ I never say a word; and not from indifference.  Do try to make out these readings of me as a dixit Casaubonus; and don’t throw me down as a corrupt text, nor convict me for an infidel which I am not.  On the contrary I am grateful and happy to believe that you like to come here; and even if you came here as a pure act of charity and pity to me, as long as you chose to come I should not be too proud to be grateful and happy still.  I could not be proud to you, and I hope you will not fancy such a possibility, which is the remotest of all.  Yes, and I am anxious to ask you to be wholly generous and leave off such an interpreting philosophy as you made use of yesterday, and forgive me when I beg you to fix your own days for coming for the future.  Will you?  It is the same thing in one way.  If you like to come really every week, there is no hindrance to it—­you can do it—­and the privilege and obligation remain equally mine:—­and if you name a day for coming on any week, where there is an obstacle on my side, you will learn it from me in a moment.  Why I might as well charge you with distrusting me, because you persist in making me choose the days.  And it is not for me to do it, but for you—­I must feel that—­and I cannot help chafing myself against the thought that for me to begin to fix days in this way, just because you have quick impulses (like all imaginative persons), and wish me to do it now, may bring me to the catastrophe of asking you to come when you would rather not, ... which, as you say truly, would not be an important vexation to you; but to me would be worse than vexation; to me—­and therefore I shrink from the very imagination of the possibility of such a thing, and ask you to bear with me and let it be as I prefer ... left to your own choice of the moment.  And bear with me above all—­because this shows no want of faith in you ... none ... but comes from a simple fact (with its ramifications) ... that you know little of me personally yet, and that you guess, even, but very little of the influence of a peculiar experience over me and out of me; and if I wanted a proof of this, we need not seek further than the very point of discussion, and the hard worldly thoughts you thought I was thinking of you yesterday,—­I, who thought not one of them!  But I am so used to discern the correcting and ministering angels by