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‘Shakespeare comes at his own time to a maturing child; I shall begin to read the historical plays to Robin as soon as he starts English history; and the Gospel of Saint John, no doubt, when he is old enough to take an interest in religious myths. But for a nervous, imaginative boy like him, fairy-tales are definitely harmful. I’ve no theory against them; that would be silly and pedantic; but from my study of Robin’s reactions I’ve come to suspect that they put a child’s mind into the attitude of panic and credulity that is at the root of all human superstitions. It’s only a step, after all, from Beauty and the Beast to the Three Wise Men and the Star.—We have a great deal of useless and harmful lumber to rid ourselves of, my dear Monica.’

Never had Hester so displayed her arrogant assurance. Never, Monica realized it in the midst of her anger, had she heard her make so long a speech. Anger was flaming up, though she tried to stifle it, and it was shot through by all sorts of fiery memories:—The black eyebrows and the dusty black cloak lined with red; the Registrar’s office; the jibing friend sitting with Mr. Gales on the stair—flashed and crackled on the upward flame.

‘We differ in our definition of lumber. It’s a step