quality. Sir James might not have originated this estimate; but a kind Providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition.
“Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution about the horse, Miss Brooke,” said the persevering admirer. “I assure you, riding is the most healthy of exercises.”
“I am aware of it,” said Dorothea, coldly. “I think it would do Celia good—if she would take to it.”
“But you are such a perfect horsewoman.”
“Excuse me; I have had very little practice, and I should be easily thrown.”
“Then that is a reason for more practice. Every lady ought to be a perfect horsewoman, that she may accompany her husband.”
“You see how widely we differ, Sir James. I have made up my mind that I ought not to be a perfect horsewoman, and so I should never correspond to your pattern of a lady.” Dorothea looked straight before her, and spoke with cold brusquerie, very much with the air of a handsome boy, in amusing contrast with the solicitous amiability of her admirer.