It is like a sort of dual existence to her; for she is her dear old self all the time, and yet some other person with a sort of intellectual kit of telescope and notebook, which are eternally used on me.

I know they are _for_ me, too--for what she considers my good.
But all the same it makes an embarrassment.

Happily Second Sight cannot speak as clearly as it sees, or, rather, as it understands.

For the translation of the vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous and uncertain--a sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no one can make out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one of several ways.

This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of safety; but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time she herself may be able to understand.