Selwyn," she had confided to the little
doctor just a few days before. "She hasn't any nonsense about her, if
she is an earl's daughter."
"Earl's daughter," sniffed the little doctor, trying to slip a collar
button into a refractory binding. "Dear me, now that's gone--no,
'tisn't--that's luck," as the button rolled off into a corner of the
bureau-top where it was easily captured.
"Let me do that for you, Adoniram," said Mother Fisher, coming up to
help him.
"I guess you'll have to, wife, if it's done at all," he answered,
resigning himself willingly to her hands; "the thing slips and slides
like all possessed. Well, now, I was going to say that I wouldn't hate
a title so much, if there was a grain of common sense went along with
it. And that Mrs. Selwyn just saves the whole lot of English nobility,
and makes 'em worth speaking to, in my opinion."
And after they had their dinner, and were scattered in groups in the
bright sunshine, sitting on the wooden benches by the long tables, or
taking photographs, or watching through the big glass some mountain
climbers on one of the snowy spurs of the Matterhorn, "the good
opportunity for a quiet talk" came about.
"Now," said Mother Fisher, with a great satisfaction in her voice, "may
we sit down here on this bench, Mrs. Selwyn, and have that talk?"
Tom's mother sat down well pleased, and folding her hands in her lap,
this earl's daughter, mistress of a dozen languages, as well as
mistress of herself on all occasions, began as simply and with as much
directness as a child.
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