We were confirmed.

 

As Aunt Isobel had said, I was spared perplexity by the unmistakable nature of my weakest point. There was no doubt as to what I should pray against and strive against. But on that day it seemed not only as if I could never give way to ill-temper again, but as if the trumpery² causes of former outbreaks could never even tempt³ me to do so. As the lines of that ancient hymn⁴ to the Holy Ghost—"Veni Creator"—rolled on, I prayed humbly⁵ enough that my unworthy efforts might yet be crowned by the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit; but that a soul which sincerely longed to be "lightened with celestial fire" could be tempted⁶ to a common fit of sulks or scolding by the rub of nursery misdeeds and mischances, felt then so little likely as hardly to be worth deprecating on my knees.

 

[182]

 

And yet, when the service was over, the fatigue⁷ of the mental strain and of long kneeling and standing⁸ began to tell in a feeling that came sadly near to peevishness⁹. I spent the rest of the day resolutely¹⁰ in my room and on my knees, hoping to keep up those high thoughts and emotions which had made me feel happy as well as good. And yet I all but utterly¹¹ broke down into the most commonplace crossness because Philip did not do as I did, but

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