"A land where learned men are captivated by blue eyes and rosy
lips," answered the doctor, looking down into her sparkling face.
As they stood together Beulah remarked how very much Pauline
resembled him. True, he was pale, and she was a very Hebe, but the
dazzling transparency of the complexion was the same, the silky,
nut-brown hair the same, and the classical chiseling of mouth and
nose identical. Her eyes were "deeply, darkly," matchlessly blue,
and his were hazel; her features were quivering with youthful
joyousness and enthusiasm, his might have been carved in ivory, they
seemed so inflexible; still they were alike. Pauline did not exactly
relish the tone of his reply, and said hastily: "Uncle Guy, I wish you would not treat me as if I were an idiot; or,
what is not much better, a two-year-old child! How am I ever to
learn any sense?"
"Indeed, I have no idea," said he, passing his soft hand over her
glossy curls.
"You are very provoking! Do you want Ernest to think me a fool?"
"Have you waked to a consciousness of that danger?"
"Yes; and I want you to teach me something. Come, tell me what that
thing is I asked you about."
"Tell you what?"
"Why, what a--a 'Fourieristic-phalanx' is?" said she earnestly.
Beulah could not avoid smiling, and wondered how he managed to look
so very serious, as he replied: "I know very little about the tactics of Fourieristic-phalanxes, but
believe a phalange is a community or association of about eighteen
hundred persons, who were supposed or intended to practice the
Fourieristic doctrines. In fine, a phalange is a sort of French
Utopia."
"And where is that, sir?" asked Pauline innocently, without taking
her eyes from his face.
"Utopia is situated in No-country, and its chief city is on the
banks of the river Waterless."
"Oh, Uncle Guy! how can you quiz me so unmercifully, when I ask you
to explain things to me?"
"Why, Pauline, I am answering your questions correctly. Sir Thomas
More professed to describe Utopia, which means No-place, and
mentions a river Waterless. Don't look so desperately lofty. I will
show you the book, if you are so incorrigibly stupid." He passed his
arm round her as he spoke, and kept her close beside him.
"Mr. Lockhart, is he telling the truth?" cried she incredulously.
"Certainly he is," answered her stepfather, smiling.
"Oh, I don't believe either of you! You two think that I am simple
enough to believe any absurdity you choose to tell me. Beulah, what
is Utopia?"