Fairfax's.
She gave a little involuntary shudder, and wished that George Fairfax had
been one of the model children, so that she might have set him to learn the
first five chapters in the first book of Chronicles, and thus poured the
light of what she called Biblical knowledge upon his benighted mind.
"I do not consider the destiny of a Michael Angelo or a Goethe to be
envied," she said solemnly. "Our lives are given us for something better
than painting pictures or writing poems."
"Perhaps; and yet I have read somewhere that St. Luke was a painter,"
returned George Fairfax.
"Read somewhere," was too vague a phrase for Miss Granger's approval.
"I am not one of those who set much value on tradition," she said with
increased severity. "It has been the favourite armour of our adversaries."
"Our adversaries?"
"Yes, Mr. Fairfax. Of ROME!"
Happily for George Fairfax, they were by this time very near the station.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger had walked before them, and Mr. Fairfax had been
watching the tall slender figure by the manufacturer's side, not
ill-pleased to perceive that those two found very little to say to each
other during the walk. In the railway-carriage, presently, he had the seat
opposite Clarissa, and was able to talk to her as much as he liked; for
Mr. Granger, tired with staring after swift-flashing boats in the open
sunshine, leaned his head back against the cushions and calmly slumbered.
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