“It pleases me greatly to hear that,” said he. “But you do yourself an injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters.”
“He is praising his own pupil then,” said she, “for 'twas he who first taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in front of him he would be amused.”
“Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed.”
“My dear father,” she cried, “you surely do not think that I would ask you for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone—a bookseller—to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my doing so—not putting my name to the thing, of course?”
“And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a bookseller to pay her printer's bill?” he said, pinching her ear. “Booksellers are shrewd men of business.”
“But even men of business have their weak moments,” said she. “And so if—if—you would not think it too bold of me to let James take my parcel to a bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my ambition?”
“You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your father,” said he, smiling shrewdly. “I will consent if—ah, there is the fatal if—if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear child. I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a real letter from you—not an imaginary one.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him—but even then he had to stoop before his lips were on her forehead.
He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the cobble-stones.
So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she had submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a simpleton—a foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of business and booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print everything that was sent to him.