"Why so, poor thing? It is only a little smoky, dingy, noisy, and foggy, after all."
"I wish," hotly observed Miss O'Reilly, "that instead of pulling that unfortunate child's hair as if it were the ear of a spaniel, you would talk sense. Come here, Primrose," she added, impatiently, addressing me.
Instead of going I looked at Cornelius. I sat by him on the edge of the sofa, and he was in the act of mechanically unrolling a stray lock of my hair.
"Well!" said Miss O'Reilly
He smiled; but his look said I was to obey his sister; I went up to her a little reluctantly. She made me sit down on a low cushion at her feet, then resumed—
"Cornelius, will you talk sense?"
"Kate, I will."
"Do you, or do you not, like the life you have chosen?"
He did not answer.
"I always thought a stool in an office unworthy of your talents and education. If you do not like it, leave it; if you do like it, seek at least to rise."