like the suggestion. “Betty is a child yet. For pity’s sake, Sara, don’t go putting nonsensical ideas into her head.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” mourned Sara, as if it were something to be regretted, “You have filled it too full of books and things like that. I’ve every confidence in your judgment, Stephen — and really you've done wonders with Betty. But don’t you think you’ve made her rather too clever? Men don’t like women who are too clever. Her poor father, now — he always said that a woman who liked books better than beaux was an unnatural creature.”
I didn’t believe Jack had ever said anything so foolish. Sara imagined things. But I resented the aspersion of blue-stockingness cast on Betty.
“When the time comes for Betty to be interested in beaux,” I said severely, “she will probably give them all due attention. Just at present her head is a great deal better filled with books than with silly premature fancies and sentimentalities. I’m a critical old fellow — but I'm satisfied with Betty, Sara — perfectly satisfied.”
Sara sighed.
“Oh, I dare say she is all right, Stephen. And I’m really grateful to you. I’m sure I could have done nothing at all with her. It’s not your fault, of course — but I can’t help wishing she were a little more like other girls.”
