Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes fixed upon him.
CHAPTER XXXII
Doctor Burney sat for a long time staring at a point high above his wife’s head. The eldest daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of the writing-table, was radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others were standing together—huddled together, it might be said, for they suggested a pair of lambs recently frightened—doubtful of what is going to happen next and feeling that the closer they are to each other the safer they will be.
“Did you ever hear of anything so funny?” said Hetty, glancing around and still radiant.
Her father got upon his feet.
“And she was the only one that never had any attention,” said he, as if he had not heard Hetty’s remark. “Fanny was left to make her own way as pleased her best—no one troubled about her education. She was left to pick up knowledge as best she could—the crumbs that fell from the others’ table—that was how she picked up French when the others came back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them.... And so shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things—the things in that book—the pictures red with life—the real life-blood of men and women—love—emotion—pathos—all that make up life—and don’t forget the characterization—that’s what seems to me all but miraculous. Hogarth—we all know that Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them into his pictures because he made it a point to walk among them and look at them with observant eyes; but tell me, if you can, what chance that child had of seeing anything; and yet she has filled her canvas, and every bit is made up of firm, true drawing. That is the chief wonder.”
He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not looking at anyone in particular—just skimming them all with his eyes as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as he talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This assisted her to recover herself also—a minute or so in advance of him.
“You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it,” she said, when he had done. “Is it fair to condemn her before you make sure?”