“Has father said anything to you about me wanting to be an architect?” He spoke with an affectation of dreaminess.
“About you wanting to be an architect?” repeated Maggie in surprise.
“Yes,” said Edwin. He knew perfectly well that his father would never have spoken to Maggie on such a subject. But he wanted to open a conversation.
“No fear!” said Maggie. And added in her kindest, most encouraging, elder-sisterly tone: “Why?”
“Oh!” He hesitated, drawling, and then he told her a great deal of what was in his mind. And she carefully put the wool-marker in her book and shut it, and listened to him. And the fire dropped and dropped, comfortably. She did not understand him; obviously she thought his desire to be an architect exceedingly odd; but she sympathised. Her attitude was soothing and fortifying. After all (he reflected) Maggie’s all right—there’s some sense in Maggie. He could ‘get on’ with Maggie. For a few moments he was happy and hopeful.
“I thought I’d write him a letter,” he said. “You know how he is to talk to.”
There was a pause.
“What d’ye think?” he questioned.
“I should,” said Maggie.
“Then I shall!” he exclaimed. “How d’ye think he’ll take it?”