Mr. Dallas turned another page of his newspaper, and did not hurry his answer. 'Why?' 'And _where_ are you going to send him?' 'Really,' said Mr. Dallas, without ceasing his contemplation of the page before him, 'I do not know. I have not considered the matter lately.' 'Do you remember he is eighteen?' 'I thought you were not ready to let him go yet?' Mrs. Dallas stopped her embroidery and sighed. 'But he must go, husband.' Mr. Dallas made no answer. He seemed not to find the question pressing. Mrs. Dallas sat looking at him now, neglecting her work. 'You have got to make up your mind to it, and so have I,' she went on presently. 'He is ready for college. All this pottering over the classics with Colonel Gainsborough doesn't amount to anything. It keeps him out of idleness,--if Pitt ever could be idle,--but he has got to go to college after all, sooner or later. He must go!' she repeated with another sigh. 'No special hurry, that I see.' 'What's gained by delay? He's eighteen. That's long enough for him to have lived in a place like this. If I had my way, Hildebrand, I should send him to England.' 'England!' Mr. Dallas put down his paper now and looked at his wife. What had got into her head? 'Oxford is better than the things they call colleges in this country.' 'Yes; but it is farther off.' 'That's not a bad thing, in some respects. Hildebrand, you don't want Pitt to be formed upon the model of things in this country. You would not have him get radical ideas, or Puritanical.' 'Not much danger!' 'I don't know.' 'Who's to put them in his head? Gainsborough is not a bit of a radical.' 'He is not one of us,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'And Pitt is very independent, and takes his own views from nobody or from anybody. See his educating this girl, now.' 'Educating her!' 'Yes, he is with her and her father a great piece of every day; reading and talking and walking and drying flowers and giving lessons. I don't know what all they are doing. But in my opinion Pitt might be better employed.' 'That won't last,' said the father with a half laugh. 'What ought not to last, had better not be begun,' Mrs. Dallas said sententiously. There was a pause. 'What are you afraid of, wife?' 'I am afraid of Pitt's wasting his time.' 'You have never been willing to have him go until now. I thought you stood in the way.' 'He was not wasting his time until lately. He was as well at home. But there must come an end to that,' the mother said, with another slight sigh. She was not a woman given to sighing; it meant much from her. 'But England?' said Mr. Dallas. 'What's your notion about England? Oxford is very well, but the ocean lies between.' 'Where would _you_ send him?' 'I'd send him to the best there is on this side.' 'That's not Oxford. I believe it would be good for him to be out of this country for a while; forget some of his American notions, and get right English ones. Pitt is a little too independent.'