I was recommended to send
Julia there--one of our old customers is a Governor,
or whatever it's called--and he got special terms for her.
She was rather old, you know, to go to school, but he arranged
it very nicely for her--and there is such a good boys'
college there, it seemed the wisest thing to send Alfred too.
Julia is to finish at Christmas-time--and what I'm
going to do with her afterward is more than I know."
"Is she pretty?" the uncle of Julia enquired.
"She's very nice," the mother answered, with vague extenuation
in her tone. "I don't know about her looks--she varies
so much. Sometimes I think she's pretty--and then again
I can't think it. She's got good features, and she holds
herself well, and she's very much the lady--rather too much,
I think, sometimes--but it all depends upon what you
call pretty. She's not tall, you know. She takes after
her father's family. The Dabneys are all little people."
Thorpe seemed not to care about the Dabneys. "And what's
Alfred like?" he asked.
"He wants to be an artist!" There was a perceptible note
of apprehension in the mother's confession.
"Well--why shouldn't he--if he's got a bent that way?"
demanded Thorpe, with reproof in his tone. "Did you want
him to be a shop-keeper?"
"I should like to see him a doctor," she replied with dignity.
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