“I do not like men with perpetual smiles on their countenances, papa.”
“My dear Helen, do not be so prejudiced,” said the doctor angrily. “I have seen Mr Mastrum: you have not. I have told him everything about Dexter; he applauds my plan, and assures me that in two or three years I shall hardly know the boy, he will be so improved.” Helen sighed.
“We had a long discussion about my book, and he agrees that I am quite right. So pray do not begin to throw obstacles in the way.”
Helen rose and kissed her father’s forehead.
“I am going to do everything I can to aid your plans, papa,” she said, smiling. “Of course I do not like parting with Dexter, and I cannot help feeling that there is some truth in what you say about a change being beneficial for a time; but Dexter is a peculiar boy, and I would rather have had him under my own eye.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. Very good of you,” said the doctor; “but this way is the best. Of course he will have holidays, and we shall go to see him, and so on.”
“When is he to go, papa?”
“Directly.”
“Directly?”
“Well, in a day or two.”