CHAPTER XVIII.
A WOMAN ONE DOES NOT MEET EVERY DAY.
"Gone—and I always loved that girl so well,
Gone—like the old proverbial fair gazelle;
Or like the piece of toast so broad and wide,
That always tumbles on the buttered side."
—Anon.
"Burpee, my dear son, be careful in your choice of a wife; it is an event in life which every young man should look into with all possible keenness of judgment; and, my dear boy, I beg of you to be very careful."
Lady Streathmere taps her silver-headed cane on the deep piled, plush carpet. She is very anxious about the person who is to be the future bride of her wayward son.
"Yes, mother, you are very good about giving your advice, but I hope I have sense enough to understand what I am doing. I know my own mind, too, although you seem to think I don't."
Lady Streathmere feels hurt; she looks past her son, out the window into the garden, where the pretty flowers have faded and died by the frost's bitter, chilly blast.
"'In buying horses and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend yourself to God,' is an old Italian proverb, often quoted by your father; it contains all that is necessary, my son. I will leave your choice in hands higher and better than mine."