"I really don't know," said my wife, musingly.
"Do you think we could get that school in Taunton for her?"
"Impossible; Mr. Herbert told me he had already twelve applicants for it."
"Couldn't you get her plain sewing? Is she handy with her needle?"
"She has tried that, but it brings on a pain in her side, and cough; and the Doctor has told her it will not do for her to confine herself."
"How is her handwriting? Does she write a good hand?"
"Only passable."
"Because," said I, "I was thinking if I could get Steele and Simpson to give her law-papers to copy."
"They have more copyists than they need now; and, in fact, this woman does not write the sort of hand at all that would enable her to get on as a copyist."
"Well," said I, turning uneasily in my chair, and at last hitting on a bright masculine expedient, "I'll tell you what must be done. She must get married."