“Of course, father.”
“And a girl’s little brain is meant to keep a house comfortable.”
“But, father, I haven’t such a little brain; and I think I could do something else.”
“Could what?” said father, opening his eyes with horror. “What in the world is more necessary for a girl who is one day to be a woman than to know how to keep a house comfortable?”
“Yes, yes,” I said; “I suppose so.”
I was very easily stopped when father spoke in that high key.
“And you have complained to me that you find life dull. Did you find Miss Grace Donnithorne dull?”
“Oh no; she is very lively, father.”
Father slowly crossed one large white hand over the other; then he rose.
“Good-night, Dumps,” he said.