“But what gentlemen do you refer to? I have not a score of suitors waiting outside the door, as did Tabitha. Nor do I possess my sister’s rare beauty. I am myself and only that.”
“You underrate yourself, Mary. You have an abundance of excellent qualities. Poor Tabitha possessed little else but her beauty. She had to make the most of it,” said Mr. Pepperidge with an air of regret.
Mary looked over at her father in surprise. “Papa, whatever has gotten into you this evening? I have never heard you speak so before.”
“Perhaps I feel my own mortality more than is my usual wont. Certainly things appear uncommonly clear to me these days,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“I do wish you would not speak so, Papa. Why, you are a prime specimen of the stolid respectable Englishman. You shall undoubtedly enjoy many more years of my spoiling you,” said Mary. “I am only glad that Tabitha and William are not here to listen to your foolishness.”
Mr. Pepperidge chuckled. “Aye, Tabitha would give us floods of tears, would she not? Tabitha was always a spritely little thing, pretty as a picture, but not near as clever as you or William.”
“William would undoubtedly scold you, just as I have,” said Mary, smiling.
“The boy has no proper respect for his elders,” Mr. Pepperidge grumbled, but it was said indulgently. He said, suddenly pensive, “I would have liked my son to follow me into trade, but I have come to recognize that it will never be. William has always been unsteady. Now he is wild for the army and I will not be able to hold him in England much longer.”
“But he is only sixteen, Papa! A mere boy!” exclaimed Mary as she returned her nearly empty coffee cup to the tray.
“Aye, old enough to know his mind but not old enough to have acquired good sense,” said Mr. Pepperidge. “I worry about some of those friends of his, Mary, I shan’t disguise that from you.”
“As do I, Papa. His last visit he spoke quite glowingly of a fellow who sounded to me to be suspiciously knowing for a schoolboy,” said Mary quietly
“It is a pity you were not born a man, Mary. You’ve the sensible discerning character required for business that William so deplorably lacks,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“If I had been a man you would not now be sipping coffee made perfectly to your liking,” Mary said wryly. She got the rise that she had expected as Mr. Pepperidge chuckled and agreed it was so.
“Still and all, I wish more for you than keeping house for an old man. ‘Tis a pity that you were never taken with any of the gentlemen who called on Tabitha.”
“I think it was as much the other way around, Papa. None of the gentlemen was taken with me,” said Mary matter-of-factly. In the beginning, a few of the gentlemen had been her callers; but their interest in her had never survived once they had met her sister.
“Idiots, one and all,” said Mr. Pepperidge forcibly.
Mary laughed. She shook her head at him reprovingly. “Really, Papa. How can you say so when you have just expressed the wish that I had wed one of them?”
“Aye, tie me in knots with my own words. I still wish something better for you, child,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“Perhaps I shall surprise you one day, Papa,” said Mary. “Now do finish your coffee so that Maud may take back the tray. It is getting very late.”
Mr. Pepperidge obeyed, grumbling a little. “Aye, fuss over me and send me up to my bed. I am just an old man. What do I know, after all?”
Mary laughed again. “Dear Papa.” She rose and walked over to drop an affectionate kiss on his wrinkled brow. “I shall see you in the morning, shall I?” She turned to the bell-pull and tugged it.
“Of course; of course. You recall that I shall be wanting to go to Dover on the morrow?”
“Yes, Papa. I gave the orders for the packing hours ago. We shall be able to leave at first light,” said Mary.
He regarded her with his head cocked to one side. “It is to be a holiday,
“You underrate yourself, Mary. You have an abundance of excellent qualities. Poor Tabitha possessed little else but her beauty. She had to make the most of it,” said Mr. Pepperidge with an air of regret.
Mary looked over at her father in surprise. “Papa, whatever has gotten into you this evening? I have never heard you speak so before.”
“Perhaps I feel my own mortality more than is my usual wont. Certainly things appear uncommonly clear to me these days,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“I do wish you would not speak so, Papa. Why, you are a prime specimen of the stolid respectable Englishman. You shall undoubtedly enjoy many more years of my spoiling you,” said Mary. “I am only glad that Tabitha and William are not here to listen to your foolishness.”
Mr. Pepperidge chuckled. “Aye, Tabitha would give us floods of tears, would she not? Tabitha was always a spritely little thing, pretty as a picture, but not near as clever as you or William.”
“William would undoubtedly scold you, just as I have,” said Mary, smiling.
“The boy has no proper respect for his elders,” Mr. Pepperidge grumbled, but it was said indulgently. He said, suddenly pensive, “I would have liked my son to follow me into trade, but I have come to recognize that it will never be. William has always been unsteady. Now he is wild for the army and I will not be able to hold him in England much longer.”
“But he is only sixteen, Papa! A mere boy!” exclaimed Mary as she returned her nearly empty coffee cup to the tray.
“Aye, old enough to know his mind but not old enough to have acquired good sense,” said Mr. Pepperidge. “I worry about some of those friends of his, Mary, I shan’t disguise that from you.”
“As do I, Papa. His last visit he spoke quite glowingly of a fellow who sounded to me to be suspiciously knowing for a schoolboy,” said Mary quietly
“It is a pity you were not born a man, Mary. You’ve the sensible discerning character required for business that William so deplorably lacks,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“If I had been a man you would not now be sipping coffee made perfectly to your liking,” Mary said wryly. She got the rise that she had expected as Mr. Pepperidge chuckled and agreed it was so.
“Still and all, I wish more for you than keeping house for an old man. ‘Tis a pity that you were never taken with any of the gentlemen who called on Tabitha.”
“I think it was as much the other way around, Papa. None of the gentlemen was taken with me,” said Mary matter-of-factly. In the beginning, a few of the gentlemen had been her callers; but their interest in her had never survived once they had met her sister.
“Idiots, one and all,” said Mr. Pepperidge forcibly.
Mary laughed. She shook her head at him reprovingly. “Really, Papa. How can you say so when you have just expressed the wish that I had wed one of them?”
“Aye, tie me in knots with my own words. I still wish something better for you, child,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
“Perhaps I shall surprise you one day, Papa,” said Mary. “Now do finish your coffee so that Maud may take back the tray. It is getting very late.”
Mr. Pepperidge obeyed, grumbling a little. “Aye, fuss over me and send me up to my bed. I am just an old man. What do I know, after all?”
Mary laughed again. “Dear Papa.” She rose and walked over to drop an affectionate kiss on his wrinkled brow. “I shall see you in the morning, shall I?” She turned to the bell-pull and tugged it.
“Of course; of course. You recall that I shall be wanting to go to Dover on the morrow?”
“Yes, Papa. I gave the orders for the packing hours ago. We shall be able to leave at first light,” said Mary.
He regarded her with his head cocked to one side. “It is to be a holiday,
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