"Try a fresh tonic," suggested her husband, stretching himself lazily in his chair as he spoke.
"A tonic would be of absolutely no use."
"Then you had better send for Dr. Fergusson to-morrow, and let him see her; it's as well to take things in time."
"It's not a case for Dr. Fergusson, yet it has been distressing me for some months. Louisa was here yesterday, and she noticed it also, and spoke to me most seriously about it."
"Really, Blanche, you alarm me! What's the matter with Sylvia? If Dr. Fergusson can do no good we must take her to a specialist."
"It's not her body, Gordon, it's her mind. She's a dear child, but she's growing so old-fashioned and sedate, she's more like a little old woman than a girl of scarcely eleven. Louisa says it's most unhealthy."
"I wish Louisa would mind her own business," said Mr. Lindsay, frowning; "I can't see anything amiss with Sylvia. I think her old-fashioned ways are particularly charming."
"Yet they are not natural at her age. She's living in a world of dreams and make-believe. Books are all very well, but it's not good for her to be entirely buried in them."
"She has a strong imagination," replied Mr. Lindsay, "a thing Louisa can never appreciate. She inherits it from me, and I fully sympathize with her funny little pretendings."
"Yes, when pretendings don't take the place of real life. Sylvia has been such a solitary child, so accustomed to play by herself and make her own amusements, that she has almost lost the desire for young companions."