"Yes—I'm sure it's the same. He's a bank clerk, I think. I've heard papa speak of them. They're awfully poor—come-down-in-the-world sort of people."
"Oh, then, I expect when she's old enough she'll be a governess—perhaps she'll be a sort of teacher here to begin with."
Then followed some remark about looking far ahead, and a laugh at the idea of "the monkey" ever developing into a governess.
But after my usual fashion it was not till I thought it over afterwards that I understood that it was I and my father they had been discussing. In the meantime I was enjoying a confidential talk with Harriet Smith—that is to say, I was listening to all she said to me; she did not seem to expect me to say much in reply.
I felt flattered by her condescension, but I did not in my heart feel much interest in her communications. They were mostly about Emma—how she tried to bully her, Harriet, because she herself was five years older, and how the younger girl did not intend to stand it much longer. Emma was as bad as a boy.
"As bad as a boy," I repeated. "I don't know what you mean."
"That's because you've not got a brother, I suppose," said Harriet. "Our brother's a perfect nuisance. He's so spoilt—papa lets him do just as he likes. Emma and I hate the holidays because of him being at home. But it's the worst for me, you see. Emma hates Fred bullying her, so she might know I hate her bullying me."
This was all very astonishing to me.
"I have a brother," I said after a moment or two's reflection.