Dear Annie! what surprise and delight will
shine in your innocent blue eyes when I tell you my story! Your
childlike gratitude will be almost embarrassing. Last, and perhaps most
weighty pro of all--when Catherine hears of it she will be filled with
regret; yes, she may act indifference as gaily as she pleases, I am
convinced that in her heart of hearts she will be sorry.
Now for the cons; they, too, are many. As I said before, I should not
like son Robert to call me brother. I should find honest old Anderson
pere rather a trial with his red beard, his broken nails, the yawning
chasm between his upper teeth; even Mrs. Anderson, so comely and
pleasant here in her own farm-house, would suffer by being transplanted
to Lincoln's Inn. So might little Annie herself. A lapsed "h" in a
country hay-field has much less significance than when lost at a London
dinner-table. How is it, I wonder, that while the dear child generally
speaks of 'ay and 'ouse, she invariably besmirches with the strongest of
aspirates the unfortunate village of H'Orton? Still, it would be easy to
correct this, delightful to educate her during our quiet evenings, to
read with her all my favourite prose writers and poets! And, even
supposing she couldn't learn, is classical English in the wife an
infallible source of married happiness? Let me penetrate below externals
and examine into the realities of things.
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