"Oh, I don't think she minded really, because when she stopped crying she told me the whole story. It was all a make up, and she forgot she was pretending it was real because she went on to when she was eighteen, and--oh, I forget what she did then, but I know she rode to hounds and had a silvery laugh." Across Edward Webb's worried face a complaisant look was stealing; his eyes had brightened. He met Nancy's laughing glance and answered it, but there was more than amusement in his: there was pride. "You see," he said to her when Grace had left the room, "she's not an ordinary child." "I wish her temper were ordinary. It's dreadful, Edward. She threw a plate at Bessie yesterday; I don't know why." "Surely you ought to have found out, dear, and done something to correct her." "I went to bed," said Nancy simply. "You'll have to see a doctor." "My dear, we simply can't afford it. Besides, I know what to do." "I don't really need that new suit, Nancy." "My dear shabby little old man, don't be absurd. I saw Mrs. Emery about Grace. She is willing to apprentice her at once." "It's too soon. The child is only twelve." "Nearly thirteen. Of course, it's too soon, but what are we to do?" "I don't know--I don't know. I do not like to give my daughter so poor an education." "She's a dunce, anyhow. We must think about it. Mrs. Emery says she will only charge a nominal fee, as she has such a high opinion of her dancing, and finds her such a help already." "That's a relief. I thought--I was afraid I might have to apply to George for a loan. I should not like to do that." "He came here yesterday," Nancy said reluctantly, "and hinted again. I wish he'd marry someone." "My dear, it may come to asking him to live here. It would be a great help, and--I hope I am not pessimistic, but I foresee misfortune. It must be faced--I am a failure, Nancy. My commissions are getting smaller every year. They are bound to remove me soon. I could not blame them. They may give me a clerkship at a paltry income. And there is Theresa's education." "And Grace's stockings!" said Nancy. "But oh, Edward, George is dreadful! I might do without a servant." "That's impossible." He spoke with a rare decision. "We must do our best, Nancy." "I know I'm a bad manager. I'm not economical, but I do try. I suppose I ought to be thankful that the children's appetites are enormous, and that Theresa's energy wears her clothes into rags. And the poor child loathes wearing Grace's outgrown frocks. I dye them and disguise them when I can, but she thinks everybody knows. She doesn't even have clothes of her own!" "If we can only hold out until she is grown up. She is not an ordinary child." "Of course she isn't! You knew she wasn't ordinary when she was an hour old. What was it you said--the moulding of her forehead? You made up your mind to it before she was born! And I love you for it--at present." "What do you mean?"