The scene had been an animated one, and Mr.
Ayrton had hoped to derive a good deal of pleasure from describing it to his daughter; but when he had listened to her, and watched her for a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that it would be absurd for him to make an effort to compete with her.

What was his wretched little story of Parliamentary squalor compared with these psychological subtleties which had interested his daughter all the evening?
He listened to and watched that lovely thing, overflowing with the animation that comes from a quick intelligence--a keen appreciation of the intelligence of the great artists who had interpreted a story which thrilled the imagination of generation after generation, and he felt that Parliament was a paltry thing.

Parliament--what was Parliament?
The wrangle of political parties over a paltry issue.

It had no real life in it; it had nothing of the fullness and breadth of the matters that interested such people as had minds--imagination.
"You are tired," she cried at last.

"It is thoughtless of me to keep you out of your bed.