“No,” said Ethel decidedly, “I am glad you were there, Ritchie; I never should have thought of one time being better than another.”
“Just like Ethel!” said Flora, smiling.
“Why should not you learn?” said Richard gently.
“I can’t,” said Ethel, in a desponding way.
“Why not? You are much sharper than most people, and, if you tried, you would know those things much better than I do, as you know how to learn history.”
“It is quite a different sort of cleverness,” said Flora. “Recollect Sir Isaac Newton, or Archimedes.”
“Then you must have both sorts,” said Ethel, “for you can do things nicely, and yet you learn very fast.”
“Take care, Ethel, you are singeing your frock! Well, I really don’t think you can help those things!” said Flora. “Your short sight is the reason of it, and it is of no use to try to mend it.”
“Don’t tell her so,” said Richard. “It can’t be all short sight—it is the not thinking. I do believe that if Ethel would think, no one would do things so well. Don’t you remember the beautiful perspective drawing she made of this room for me to take to Oxford? That was very difficult, and wanted a great deal of neatness and accuracy, so why should she not be neat and accurate in other things? And I know you can read faces, Ethel—why don’t you look there before you speak?”
“Ah! before instead of after, when I only see I have said something malapropos,” said Ethel.