"
Her eye flashed. But she moderated herself, and said, "That is the
outline; and it is a grievance. Now, grievances are bores. You can escape
this one before it is too late."
"If it lies with me, I demand the minutest details," said Vizard, warmly.
"You shall have them; and true to the letter."
Vizard settled the small account, and adjourned, with his companion, to
the garden. She walked by his side, with her face sometimes thoughtfully
bent on the ground, and sometimes confronting him with ardor, and told
him a true story, the simplicity of which I shall try not to spoil with
any vulgar arts of fiction.
A LITTLE NARRATIVE OF DRY FACTS TOLD TO A WOMAN-HATER BY A WOMAN.
CHAPTER XII.
"My father was an American, my mother English. I was born near Epsom and
lived there ten years. Then my father had property left him in
Massachusetts, and we went to Boston. Both my parents educated me, and
began very early. I observe that most parents are babies at teaching,
compared with mine. My father was a linguist, and taught me to lisp
German, French, and English; my mother was an ideaed woman: she taught me
three rarities--attention, observation, and accuracy.
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