Mr. Mapleson would be enthralled.
"Diamonds and pearls!" he'd say. "Diamonds and pearls!"
There are times, though, one fears, when Bab Wynne, with the spirit that betokens the dawning of a character, was not just so earnest, so tractable. Pouting, she'd mumble: "Don't know how to spell cat!" or, "No, I don't see the old ox!"
Mr. Mapleson would slowly shake his head.
"If you won't read and won't spell, Bab," he'd say, "how can you hope ever to grow up a lady—a fine lady?"
"Don't want to be a fine lady!" Bab would answer.
Usually after this was a little silence. Then Mr. Mapleson would hold out both his hands to her.
"D'you want to break Mr. Mapy's heart?" he'd ask.
That always fetched her. And thus had passed the years, one by one drifting by. Bab had just turned twenty, and Mr. Mapleson's promise had come true. "Diamonds and pearls! Diamonds and pearls!" he'd told her. They were to be hers now. Bab Wynne at last had found her people!