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"Now I've learned O," she remarked, "I'd like to learn another." "Well, there's an I; see, there?" "The other one looks more like an eye," she observed critically. "So it does, so it does!" Amberley admitted, much impressed by the discovery. "But then it's an O all the same, and this one is an I." "Yes; well, I've learned that. Now, make another."
Left to himself, he would have builded a private car, and kept it at the nearest railway-station, Amberley Royal, five miles away. But those into whose hands he had committed himself for his English training had little knowledge of railways and less of private cars. The one they knew was something that existed in the scheme of things for their convenience.
She herself had long since parted with any semblance of a waist, and the boned collars of the day were a perpetual torment to one whose neck, from the dressmaker's point of view, scarcely existed. But Mrs. Amberley endured them, because they were the fashion; and to be moderately in the fashion meant simply keeping up to the mark not falling behind.
I remember Sussex, and as I remember it I must, if only for example, set down my roll-call of such names, as Fittleworth, where the Inn has painted panels; Amberley in the marshes; delicate Fernhurst, and Ditchling under its hill; Arundel, that is well known to every one; and Climping, that no one knows, set on a lonely beach and lost at the vague end of an impassable road; and Barlton, and Burton, and Duncton, and Coldwatham, that stand under in the shadow and look up at the great downs; and Petworth, where the spire leans sideways; and Timberley, that the floods make into an island; and No Man's Land, where first there breaks on you the distant sea.
He stooped to pick it, and was standing, lost in wonder over its frailty and its hardihood, when a child's voice struck his ear, calling, "Come Bossie, come!" Stepping around a projecting rock close at hand, Amberley came upon a pretty scene.
Then his face went scarlet, as a memory occurred to him. "Say, White Point's around the corner. And that's where we'll find that hop-headed agent if he ain't done up. Anyways, if he ain't why, I guess we'll just set him playin' a miser-arey over his miser'ble wires, that'll set 'em diggin' out a funeral hearse and mournin' coaches in that dogasted prairie sepulcher Amberley." Mr.
"I want to know something and do something," said Susy, with intensity evading the question. "It's such a big world, mother! I'll be better worth having afterwards." Mrs. Amberley said nothing. But a little later she went into her husband's study. "Frank I think we'll have to let her," she said piteously. The Rector looked up assentingly, and put his hand in his wife's.
Amberley boasts a Castle and stands right in the mouth of one of those gaps in the Downs as Bramber does, the gap of the Arun, and it might well be thought that Amberley held this pass. As a fact she did not.
She was tall and thin, with something of her brother's good looks, but none of his over-flowing vitality. Her iron-grey hair was rolled back from her forehead; she wore a black dress with a high collar of white lawn, and long white cuffs. Little Mrs. Amberley, the Rector's wife, sitting beside her, envied her hostess her figure, and her long slender neck.
The Rector shook his grey head. "Young women were different in my youth." Mrs. Amberley sighed, and Susy biting her lip, knew that her own conduct was perhaps more in question than Miss Blanchflower's. They reached home in silence. Susy went to light her father's candles in his modest book-littered study. Then she put her mother on the sofa in the drawing-room, rubbed Mrs.
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