"Yes, ma'am; a lady lawyer."

Mrs. Tarbell had never a word to say. In spite of having triumphed over
all the arguments, both those epicene and those particularly masculine,
which had been used against herself, she had not now the strength of
mind to use them in her turn. In spite of being a lawyer, she had a
conscience. She had looked forward to taking students, but they were all
to have been Portias, every woman Jane of them; and before her own
learning was fairly dry (which I think an eminently proper adjective to
describe legal learning) there appeared to her an obviously
crack-brained old party in an india-rubber cloak, who kept a candy-store
and wanted her daughter to become a lawyer. No wonder Mrs. Tarbell was
embarrassed. Was she to say to the crack-brained one, "Madam, pay me one
hundred dollars per annum and I will take your daughter as a student"?
On the other hand, how in the name of that Orloff, that Pitt, that
Kohinoor diamond among precious virtues, consistency, was she to go so
far as even to hint to Mrs. Stiles that any woman couldn't be a lawyer?
As Mrs. Tarbell hesitated, she began to fear she was lost.

"Celandine is a real bright girl," said Mrs. Stiles, who had now
regained her breath. Was this the woman who had knocked so timidly at
the door? "Celandine is a _real_ bright girl; her mind is thorough,
logical, and comprehensive,--that's what Professor Jamieson said, up to
the High School. Them was his very words. Celandine is to graduate this
year: she's in the class with girls two and three years older than
herself, Mrs. Tarbell. It was a terrible strain on me to keep her at
school, ma'am, and again and _again_ I've thought I couldn't stand it,
what with her being in the shop only in the afternoon, and the washing,
and trying to keep her clothes always nice; though she's been as good as