"Yes, sorry," said Rotha, "but I think it may be best. O Boston, or anywhere, Mr. Southwode! Just what you think wisest. But—I was thinking—"
Rotha laid down her knife and fork and pushed away her plate. Her heart began to beat at an uneasy rate, and her voice grew anxious.
"May I give you some fruit?"
"No—I do not care for it—thank you."
"This looks like a good pear. Try."
It was on the whole easier to be doing something with her fingers. Rotha began to peal the pear.
"You were thinking—?" Mr. Southwode then resumed.
"I?—O yes! I was thinking—" And Rotha's pear and peel went down. "I was thinking—Mr. Digby, if I knew just what I was going to do, or be afterwards,—wouldn't it help us to know what I had better study? what preparation I ought to have?"
"Afterwards? After what?" said Mr. Southwode, without laying down his pear.
"After I have done with school."