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Deborah was the only sister with whom she can be said to have corresponded, and Deborah had a shrewd suspicion that all was not gold that glittered in Francie's lot. Deborah had the best means of knowing, being herself a world-traveller, and what is called a society woman, as well known in the resorts of such as Frances herself.
You see, she might be a very good woman, and yet have no sense of humor; she might be very charitable, and also a little vainglorious about it; she might have very exalted ideas of duty, and be a trifle hard on those who did not come up to her standards; but in Miss Francie's case these qualifications haven't to be put in at all.
He is like that damnable monster Basiliscus, which defiles yea, poisons! by the sight. All which was hardly claratory to the boy's mind. Presently Montroymont came home, and called up the stairs to Francie. But this day Francie's heart was not in the fencing. 'Sir, says he, suddenly lowering his point, 'will ye tell me a thing if I was to ask it? 'Ask away, says the father.
The dominie could not help grinning a little at his own discomfiture as he told this story, but Aaron saw nothing amusing in it. "As I telled you," he repeated, "I winna touch him, so if you're no content wi' what you've done yoursel', you had better put Francie's mither on him." "I hear she has taken him in hand already," Mr. Cathro replied dryly.
"Radcliffe's an unruly little Hessian, of course, but I suppose all boys are mischievous at times." Martha pondered. "Well, not all boys are mischievous in just the same way, thank God! This trouble o' Francie's has threw me all out in more ways than one.
It's topping to be here at last. By the by, I suppose you'll be getting in Rotherwood soon? Or have you got already?" Ingred was stooping to lace her shoe, so perhaps the position accounted for her stifled voice. "We're not going back there." "Not going back!" Francie's tone was one of genuine amazement. "Why, but you said it was being done up for you, and you'd be moving before the term started!"
Flack evidently enjoyed the scene; he gazed about him at their neighbours, at the villas and gardens on either hand; he took in the prospect of the far-stretching brown boskages and smooth alleys of the wood, of the hour they had yet to spend there, of the rest of Francie's pleasant prattle, of the place near the lake where they could alight and walk a little; even of the bench where they might sit down.
I live in a rush. That's the way to get through." "Well, I AM through, I guess," said Mr. Dosson philosophically. "Well, I ain't!" his daughter declared with decision. "Well, you must come round often," he continued to their friend as a leave-taking. "Oh, I'll come round! I'll have to rush, but I'll do it." "I'll send down Francie." And Francie's father crept away.
From the moment they should feel they were on solid ground they would join hands and dance round her. Francie's answer to this ingenuity was that she didn't know what he was talking about, and he indulged in no attempt on that occasion to render his meaning more clear; the consequence of which was that he felt he bore as yet with an insufficient mass, he cut, to be plain, a poor figure.
And yet, in spite of the sound common sense which fixed the worth of art at what it would fetch, some of the Forsytes Aunt Hester, for instance, who had always been musical could not help regretting that Francie's music was not 'classical'; the same with her poems. But then, as Aunt Hester said, they didn't see any poetry nowadays, all the poems were 'little light things.
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