"Not a boarding-school," said Mrs. Lindsay; "I will not hear of that."
"No, but a day-school; it would do her a vast deal of good, I am certain; her notions want shaking up very much. And I never saw a child of her age so much a child."
"I assure you I never saw one so much a woman. She has asked me to-day, I suppose," said he, smiling, "a hundred questions or less; and I assure you there was not one foolish or vain one among them; not one that was not sensible, and most of them singularly so."
"She was greatly pleased with her day," said Mrs. Lindsay.
"I never saw such a baby face in my life," said Lady Keith, "in a child of her years."
"It is a face of uncommon intelligence!" said her brother.
"It is both," said Mrs. Lindsay.
"I was struck with it the other day," said Lady Keith "the day she slept so long upon the sofa upstairs, after she was dressed; she had been crying about something, and her eyelashes were wet still, and she had that curious, grave, innocent look you only see in infants; you might have thought she was fourteen months instead of fourteen years old; fourteen and a half, she says she is."
"Crying?" said Mr. Lindsay, "What was the matter?"
"Nothing," said Mrs. Lindsay, "but that she had been obliged to submit to me in something that did not please her."