‘When I marry you, Mr. White,’ she said, ‘I’ll buy you a nice wig, and then, you see, no one will know!’
‘A wig—the gods forbid!’
‘A beautiful black, like the Chevalier wears. I know it’s a wig, because he takes it off and puts on a nightcap when he goes to bed.’
White threw back his head and laughed heartily; then forcing a serious look into his face, he said—
‘Don’t let us wander from the subject; I began by saying that you must go to school.’
Madeline’s face darkened, and her lips pouted.
‘I shan’t,’ she said.
‘Come, come, Madeline! Don’t you care to learn?’
‘No.’
‘Nevertheless, learning is a physic which you will be compelled to take. You mustn’t grow up a little ignoramus. English grammar, geography, and—yes, by Jove—you shall learn French and music.’