She did.
“Well, I’m thinking of taking him down; what do you say?”
“Do lower your stick, Mr. Kincton Knox, pray, we can see perfectly without breaking anything,” expostulated his wife.
“Well, what do you say?” he repeated, pointing with his hand instead.
“Do you want my opinion as to what trees should come down?” said Mrs. Knox, with admirable perseverance. “I shall be happy to give it with respect to all—as to that particular tree it is so far away, I really don’t think the question worth debating.”
“Take it down, papa,” said Miss Clara, who rather liked her father, and encouraged him when too much put down. “I really think you’re always right about trees, I think you’ve such wonderful taste, I do indeed, and judgment about all those things.”
The old man gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek, and smiling ruddily, said—
“Well, I think I ought; I’ve read something, and thought something on the subject, and as you don’t dissent, my dear, and Clara says it’s to come down—down it comes. She’s looking very pretty; egad she is—wonderfully pretty, she is, to-day.”
“Folly!” exclaimed Miss Clara, pleased notwithstanding.
“Other people think her good-looking too, I can tell you,” exclaimed her mother, whose thoughts were all in that channel, and who could not forbear saying something on the subject. “I think, even you, Mr. Kincton Knox, will see that I have done my duty by our child, and have been the means under Providence of promoting her happiness.”