If she told him that Jessie thought that the Odyssey was about a voyage to Odessa, and was written by Alfred Tennyson, he only declared that anything was better than being a spiteful cat; and when he came in from school, and found his cousin in wild despair over the conversion of 2,861 florins into half-crowns, he stood by, telling her every operation, and leaving her nothing to do but to write down the figures. He was reckless of Janet, who tried to wither them both by her scorn; but Jessie looked up with her honest eyes, saying—
“I wish you hadn’t put it into my head, Janet, for now I must rub it out and do it again, and it won’t be so hard now Bobus has shown me how.”
“No, no, Jessie,” said Bobus; “I wouldn’t be bullied.”
“For shame, Bobus,” said his sister; “how is she to learn anything in that way?”
“And if she doesn’t?” said Bobus.
“That’s a disgrace.”
“A grace,” said provoking Bobus. “She is much nicer as she is, than you will ever be.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense,” said Janet, with an elder sisterly air. “It is not kind to encourage Jessie to think anyone can care for an empty-headed doll.”
“Empty-headed dolls are all the go,” said Bobus. “Never mind, Jessie, a girl’s business is to be pretty and good-humoured, not to stuff herself with Latin and Greek. You should leave that to us poor beggars!”
“Yes, I know, that’s all your envy and jealousy,” retorted Janet.