"It was a foolish, silly custom," she said one day, pettishly—"no sensibler than rubbing noses together, as the Feejee islanders did; for her part, she hated it, &c."
"But now, what? finish your sentence, please," says the little captive, gaily.
"Esther, I wish these people had not got a son."
"What people?"
"These Gerards."
"Why so? Do you think that they would have left you their money if they had not?"
"No, not that," smiling against his will. "But, Essie, you'll promise to write and tell me what he is like?"
"Yes."
"What sort of age?"
"Yes."