It is so with other things than acrostics: there are friends whom we feel will do very well for us if nobody--or until somebody--better turns up; and there are others whom we know to be just the right people for the particular needs of our souls at that time.

They are the right answers to the questions which have been perplexing us--the correct solutions to the problems over which we have been puzzling our brains.

So it was with Elisabeth: Christopher was the correct answer to life's current acrostic; and as long as she was with Christopher she was content.
"Don't you get very tired of people who have never found the fourth dimension ?" she asked him, as they sat upon a stile in Badgering Woods.
"What do you mean by the fourth dimension?
There are length and breadth and thickness, and what comes next ?" Christopher was pleased to find Elisabeth facing life's abstract problems again; it proved that she was no longer overpowered by its concrete ones.
"I don't know what its name is," she replied, looking dreamily through the leafless trees; "perhaps eternity would do as well as any other.

But I mean the dimension which comes after length and breadth and thickness, and beyond them, and all round them, and which makes them seem quite different, and much less important." "I think I know what you are driving at.

You mean a new way of looking at things and of measuring them--a way which makes things which ordinary people call small, large; and things which ordinary people call large, small." "Yes.