“Well,” said Roberta unhappily, “why don’t you say so?”
“Because I’m like all the rest of my family,” said Henry. “What do you think of us, Robin? You’re such a composed little person with your smooth head and your watchfulness.”
“That sounds smug and beastly.”
“It isn’t meant to. You’ve got a sort of Jane Eyreishness about you. You’ll grow up into a Jane Eyre, I daresay, if you grow at all. Don’t you sometimes think we’re pretty hopeless?”
“I like you.”
“I know. But you must criticize a little. What’s to be done? What, for instance, ought I to do?”
“I suppose,” said Roberta, “you ought to get a job.”
“What sort of job? What can I do in New Zealand or anywhere else for a matter of that?”
“Ought you to have a profession?”
“What sort of profession?”