“Well, well,” said the doctor, “what is it, my dear, that you wish to say to me?”
This was spoken in a more conciliating tone; for the worthy polemic knew that the more gently and quietly such interruptions were received, the more likely they were soon to terminate. And Mrs Greendale having now permission to speak, was accordingly well pleased.
“Why, my dear, I was wishing to consult you and to ask your advice on a subject of which you must be a far better judge than I am.”
This was certainly a concession on the part of Mrs Greendale; but unfortunately the concession was not so highly estimated by the receiver as the giver; and that is often the case with concessions of this kind. The doctor was silent, waiting for Mrs Greendale’s own enunciation of her own story; for he well knew that impatient questionings rather retard than accelerate the progress of a narrative. Mrs Greendale then proceeded.
“I have been thinking a great deal about Penelope. Now, you know, we have of late heard very little of her father, and there really does not seem to be any prospect that he will ever fulfil the fine promises he has made. And we are not doing justice to the poor girl by bringing her up with expectations that are not likely to be realised; we are giving her an education which is only justifiable under the idea that she should apply that education to the purpose of supporting herself.”
“Certainly, Mrs Greendale, it is with that view, you know, that we have given her the kind of instruction of which you speak.”
“Yes, I know it is, but—but—”
“But what, my dear?”
“Why I was going to say, that though it may be very proper that Penelope should have these accomplishments, yet it may not be altogether right that she should be introduced into the society of persons of rank, on terms of equality and intimacy.”
“Persons of rank, my dear—what do you mean? What persons of rank are we likely to introduce her to? Surely we are not in the way of doing her any injury in this respect.”