Mr. Fairfax laughed, and assented to the proposition.  “You clamor for the high education of a few at the cost of the many; is that fair?” he continued.  “High education is a luxury for those who can afford it—­a rich endowment for the small minority who have the power of mind to acquire it; and no more to be provided for that small minority out of the national exchequer than silk attire for our conspicuous beauties.”

“I shall never convert you into an advocate for the elevation of the sex.  You sustain the old cry—­the inferiority of woman’s intellect.”

“’The earth giveth much mould whereof earthen vessels are made, but little dust that gold cometh of.’  High education exists already for the wealthy, and commercial enterprise will increase the means of it as the demand increases.  If you see a grain of gold in the dust of common life, and likely to be lost there, rescue it for the crucible, but most such grains of gold find out the way to refine themselves.  As for gilding the earthen pots, I take leave to think that it would be labor wasted—­that they are, in fact, more serviceable without ornament, plain, well-baked clay.  Help those who are helpless and protect those who are weak as much as you please, but don’t vex the strong and capable with idle interference.  Leave the middle classes to supply their wants in their own way—­they know them best, and have gumption enough—­and stick we to the ancient custom of providing for the sick and needy.”

“The ancient custom is good, and is not neglected, but the modern fashion is better.”

“That I contest.  There is more alloy of vanity and busy-bodyism in modern philanthropy than savor of charity.”

“We shall never agree,” cried Lady Angleby with mock despair.  “Miss Fairfax, this is the way with us—­your grandfather and I never meet but we fall out.”

“You are not much in earnest,” said Bessie.  Terrible child! she had set down this great lady as a great sham.

“To live in the world and to be absolutely truthful is very difficult, is all but impossible,” remarked Miss Burleigh with a mild sententiousness that sounded irrelevant, but came probably in the natural sequence of her unspoken thoughts.

“When you utter maxims like your famous progenitor you should give us his nod too, Mary,” said her aunt.  Then she suddenly inquired of Mr. Fairfax, “When do you expect Cecil?”

“Next week.  He must address the electors at Norminster on Thursday.  I hope he will arrive here on Tuesday.”

Lady Angleby looked full in Bessie’s face, which was instantly overspread by a haughty blush.  Miss Burleigh looked anywhere else.  And both drew the same conclusion—­that the young lady’s imagination was all on fire, and that her heart would not be slow to yield and melt in the combustion.  The next move was back to the octagon parlor.  The young people walked to the open window; the elders had communications to exchange that might or might not concern them, but which they were not invited to hear.  They leant on the sill and talked low.  Miss Burleigh began the conversation by remarking that Miss Fairfax must find Abbotsmead very strange, being but just escaped from school.