“I hope so, daughter, but I do not like that use of the word guess—in the sense of expect, think, suppose, presume, conjecture, believe. Don’t use it in that way again.”
“I’m afraid she has learned it from me, Cousin Horace,” Annis said ingenuously. “It’s a bad habit of mine that father and mother both dislike. I have tried to break myself of it, and I mean to try harder after this.”
“I’ll try to remember not to use it any more, papa,” said Elsie. “But please tell me is it quite incorrect or only inelegant?”
“It is quite incorrect when one guesses about things well known; it is only inelegant when used in the sense of conjecture, divine, surmise, suppose, believe, think concerning something we do not know; any one of these words seems to me preferable. The use of guess in those senses is often spoken of as an Americanism, but unjustly, as it has been so used by Milton, Locke, Shakespeare, and other prominent English writers.”
“I am glad to know that,” said Annis. “Cousin Horace, I think I shall like you as a tutor very much indeed.”
“You don’t guess so?” he returned with a smile. “Well, what do you say to taking a riding lesson now?”
“Oh, that I should like it greatly; if it will not trouble you or take too much of your time.”
“No; I can spare time for that, and also for a walk with my two pupils,” he said, laying a hand caressingly on Elsie’s head as she stood at his side. “How soon can you be ready?”
“Oh, directly, papa,” was Elsie’s answer. Annis’s, “In two minutes, cousin,” and they ran gayly from the room.
“I haven’t seen Milly since breakfast!” exclaimed Annis, tripping along by Mr. Dinsmore’s side. “I wonder if she went into the city to shop?”