Sister Cecilia tells me that all the great men began in the Indian
Service."
"Oh! I wonder where they finished. Royal Academy--finishing Academy.
Regimentals and a gold frame--leaning heroically on a mild-looking cannon
with battles in the background."
"Yes, dear," replied Mrs. Agar, who only half understood Dora Glynde at
all times; "it is such a good thing for Jem. Such a splendid opportunity,
you know!"
"Yes," echoed the girl, with a twist of her humorous lips. "Splendid!"
She had turned again, and was looking out of the window across a soft old
lawn where two Wellingtonians towered side by side like sentries. Without
glancing in the direction of her companion she knew the expression of
Mrs. Agar's face, the direction of her gaze; the very thought in her
shallow mind. She knew that Mrs. Agar was sitting with her arms on the
little davenport, gazing rapturously at the photograph of an insipid
young man with a silk-faced smoking jacket; with clean linen, clean
countenance, clean hands, immaculate hair, and a general air of being too
weak to be mean.
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