'
'I fancy he wished to give the children a better kind of amusement,'
said Adela, with hesitation.
'A better kind, eh? Well, do as you like. I dare say it's no great
harm.'
'But if you really--'
'No, no; read the tales. I dare say they wouldn't listen to a better
book.'
It was not very encouraging, but Adela ventured to abide by the
vicar's choice. She went to her own sitting-room and sought the
story that Letty had spoken of. From 'The Ugly Duckling' she was led
on to the story of the mermaid, from that to the enchanted swans.
The book had never been in her hands before, and the delight she
received from it was of a kind quite new to her. She had to make an
effort to close it and turn to her specified occupations. For Adela
had so systematised her day that no minute's margin was left for
self-indulgence. Her reading was serious study. If ever she was
tempted to throw open one of the volumes which Alice left about, a
glance at the pages was enough to make her push it away as if it
were impure. She had read very few stories of any kind, and of late
had felt a strong inclination towards such literature; the spectacle
of Alice's day-long absorption was enough to excite her curiosity,
even if there had not existed other reasons. But these longings for
a world of romance she crushed down as unworthy of a woman to whom
life had revealed its dread significances: and, though she but
conjectured the matter and tone of the fiction Alice delighted in,
instinctive fear would alone have restrained her from it.
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