Her once luxuriant hair,"
a gentleman who stood by the piano—he was a widower—was obliged to turn away. But that was quite a different matter from the kind of expression that Miss Pomeroy puts into things. It's not proper. I must speak plainly to you, and say it is almost passionate, though I dislike to use the word.
"When I am dead, my dearest—"
Are these words for the drawing-room? You are pulling my skein rather tight, Sir Archibald. It stretches so easily, and these light wools require such care.
"And dreaming through the twilight
Haply I may remember, and haply may forget."
Remember what? forget what? The inquiry rises unbidden. Just ask yourself if these are words for the lips of any young woman—far less a young lady.'
Here Sir Archibald coughed so violently that he had to let go my wool (which got all tangled) and stand up.
'Excuse me,' he interrupted, 'but I have promised to speak with Johnson about something—'
'I won't detain you more than a minute,' I interrupted, 'only just to say a word of warning to the son of an old friend. Foreigners who speak our own language are the worst of all. O Sir Archibald, your grandmother was Scotch, your mother was Scotch before you were born, and all your good aunts too. I must warn you that if you let this American girl, this Miss Pomeroy, succeed in her attempt—'