Jabez told us so." Dr.Trenire did not feel able or inclined to argue the point then.
Betty drew nearer to him and leaned against his shoulder.

"Daddy," she said in her grave, confiding way, "you won't like it either, a bit.
When Anna was here before you often used to say, 'Oh, that child!' and you looked quite glad, as glad as we did, when she went away.

I am sure you will be sorry if she comes, nearly as sorry as we shall be, only you will be able to go your rounds and get away from them every day; but we," pathetically, "can't do that." Again Dr.Trenire was silent.

He sometimes wished his younger daughter's memory was less acute, and her love of reasoning less strong.
No one spoke, and until some one did, remarks would go on dropping from Betty's lips.

It was a way she had.