They belonged to the very small class of persons who still
read, who have mind and leisure to find companionship in books.
Their knowledge of languages passed the common; in earlier years
they had travelled, and their reminiscences fostered the liberality
which was the natural tone of their minds. To converse familiarly
with them was to discover their grasp of historical principles,
their insight into philosophic systems, their large apprehension of
world-problems. At the same time, they nurtured jealously their
intellectual preferences, differing on such points from each other
as they did from the common world. One of them would betray an
intimate knowledge of some French or Italian poet scarce known by
name to ordinary educated people; something in him had appealed to
her mind at a certain time, and her memory held him in gratitude.
The other would be found to have informed herself exhaustively
concerning the history of some neglected people, dear to her for
some subtle reason of affinity or association. But in their
table-talk appeared no pedantry; things merely human were as
interesting to them as to the babbler of any drawing-room, and their
inexhaustible kindliness sweetened every word they spoke.
Nothing more salutary for Irene Derwent than this sojourn with
persons whom she in every way respected--with whom there was not
the least temptation to exhibit her mere dexterities.
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