“No, my dear boy, not more than ever.”
“Oh, mother! Bob Eaton's father says the country is such a bore—and Bob thinks so too.”
“And what,” asked Mrs. Sackville, “do Bob Eaton's father and Bob Eaton, mean by a bore?”
“Why, they mean, certainly”——Edward began in a confident tone, and then faltered a little: “that is, I suppose they mean, that——that——that——” Edward found it as difficult to explain their meaning, as the original utterers of the profound remark would have done if suddenly called on: and he was glad to be interrupted by a soliloquy of his little sister, who stood in one corner of the room, wrapping something in half a dozen envelopes.
“Farewell!” she exclaimed, as the man says in the play, “‘a long farewell’ to my dear dancing shoes—”
“Pardon me, Miss Julia,” said her mother, “for cutting short such a pretty pathetic parting: but here is another pair of dancing shoes, which you will please to put with those you already have, and I trust you will have the pleasure of dancing them both out before you come to town again.”
“Dancing them out, mother! shall we dance in the country?” exclaimed both the children in one breath. “I thought,” continued Edward, “that we should have nothing to do in the country but get our lessons; and all work and no play, you know, mother, makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Oh yes, Ned, I know that favorite proverb of all children. I am sorry to find that you have such a dread of the country. You know, my dear children, that your father and I are devoted to your welfare, and that we should do nothing that would not contribute to your happiness.”
Edward had quick feelings, and he perceived that there was something reproachful in his mother's manner. “I am sure,” he said, “that Julia and I wish to do every thing that you and papa like.”
“That is not enough, my dear boy, we wish you to like to do what we like.”