a capacity for joy and unhappiness quite unknown to slower natures.
Take care of her, Woolcot, and she'll make a fine woman some day--ay,
a grand woman."

The Captain smoked four big cigars in the solitude of his study
before he could decide how he could best "take care of her."

At first he thought he would send her with Meg and the governess to
the mountains for a time, but then there was the difficulty about
lessons for the other three. He might send them to school, or
engage a governess certainly, but then again there was expense to be
considered.

It was out of the question for the girls to go alone, for Meg had
shown herself nothing but a silly little goose, in spite of her
sixteen years; and Judy needed attention. Then he remembered
Esther, too, was, looking unwell; the nursing and the General
together had been too much for her, and she looked quite a shadow of
her bright self. He knew he really ought to send her, too, and the
child, of course.

And again the expense.

He remembered the Christmas holidays were not very far away; what
would become of the house with Pip and Bunty and the two youngest
girls running wild, and no one in authority? He sighed heavily, and
knocked the ash from his fourth cigar upon the carpet.

Then the postman came along the drive and past the window. He poked
up with a broad smile, and touched his helmet in a pleased kind of