“I am not sure that it is a better place for me because of that, Aunt Mary; but it is as good a place as any, I suppose, in which to begin with a small capital.”
“Pooh! about capital! The only men in the country worth their salt began life without a dollar. Which of us has capital? And we are all bound to be rich men before we die,” said Jem.
“Yes, I dare say. If I were a boy of fifteen, I might say the same,” said Philip, with a sigh.
“Hear him! You would think him fifty, at least. And if you mean me,” said Jem loftily, “I am nearly seventeen. I only wish I were twenty-three, with the world before me.”
They all laughed at his energy.
“There is no hurry, Jem. You will need all the years that are before you. Violet, put away your work, and play, and the children will sing.”
Violet rose and opened the piano, and there was no more said at that time. While the children were singing, David went out, and, in a little, called Philip from the window. Philip rose and went out also, and they passed down the garden together. By and by they had enough of music, and Violet shut the piano, and sat down beside the window with her work again. Jem had the grace to wait till the children went out, and then he said:
“Mamma, you said I was to tell you the next time, and here it is. You must have noticed yourself—Violet’s manner, I mean. Philip noticed it, I could see. She was as stiff and dignified as Mrs Mavor herself. I wouldn’t put on airs with Phil, when he is down as he is to-night, if I were you.”
Violet looked from him to her mother in astonishment.
“Do you know what he means, mamma?”