displays on such an occasion, I closed the door behind me and walked
towards the window where my father was standing.

He was clad in a gown of ruby cashmere, and wore an expensive cap and
slippers to match; the girdle was untied, leaving the rich chenille
tassels to trail almost upon the ground, and the velvet fronts so
elaborately embroidered were crushed rudely aside by his hands, which
were thrust into his breeches pockets.

When I came up to where he stood, he turned slowly around and viewed
me in my diminutive entirety from head to foot. Unable to restrain her
love of interference any longer, my step-mother here advised me
parenthetically to "stand up straight," sustaining her reasons for
thus counselling me by the cheerful intelligence that "I was disposed
to be round-shouldered any way, and should do my best to check the
deformity." I raised my head and lowered my shoulders in silent
obedience to this meek injunction, preparing myself inwardly for an
attack of a much less generous and still more personal nature than
this. What was my surprise when my father, taking a step towards me,
and placing one hand half affectionately on my head, remarked in a
rather playful and, for him, quite a frivolous tone:

"Oh, we none of us go straight to Heaven, do we, Amey? We must bend
our shoulders and droop our heads a little first."

I was grateful to him for coming thus to my rescue, although I
understood neither the meaning of his ambiguous words, nor the motives
which prompted him to use them. I see more clearly through them now,
however.