"Yes, she is an original—all steel springs—a fine nature if properly trained," said Richmond, musingly.
"A fine fiddlestick!" said Charley, contemptuously; "she's as sharp as a persimmon, and as sour as an unripe crab-apple, and as full of stings as a whole forest of nettle-trees."
"Do you know, Charles, I fancy Lady Macbeth might have been just such a child?"
"Shouldn't wonder. The little black-eyed gipsy is fierce enough in all conscience to make a whole batch of Lady Macbeths. May all the powers that be generously grant I may not be the Duncan she is to send to the other world."
"If she is allowed to grow up as she is now, she will certainly be some day capable of even Lady Macbeth's crime. Pity she has no one better qualified to look after her than that disagreeable old woman."
"Better mind how you talk about the old lady," said Charley; "she and I are as thick as pickpockets. I flattered her beautifully, I flatter myself, and she believes in me to an immense extent. As to the young lady, what do you say to adopting her yourself? You'd be a sweet mentor for youth, wouldn't you?"
"You may laugh, but I really feel a deep interest in that child," said Richmond.
"Well, for my part," said Charley, "I don't believe in vixens, young or old, but you—you always had a taste for monsters."
"Not exactly," said Richmond, untying a knot in his whip; "but she is something new; she suits me; I like her."