This last essential had been settled about a
twelvemonth, and the very day for his going to Oxford was at hand, when
one morning Mr. Edward formally cleared his throat: it was an unusual
act, and drew the ladies' eyes upon him. He followed the solemnity up by
delivering calmly and ponderously a connected discourse, which astonished
them by its length and purport. "Mamma, dear, let us look the thing in
the face." (This was his favourite expression, as well as habit.) "I have
been thinking it quietly over for the last six months. Why send me to the
university? I shall be out of place there. It will cost you a lot of
money, and no good. Now, you take a fool's advice; don't you waste your
money and papa's, sending a dull fellow like me to Oxford. I did bad
enough at _Eton._ Make me an engineer, or something. If you were not so
fond of me, and I of you, I'd say send me to Canada, with a pickaxe; you
know I have got no headpiece."
Mrs. Dodd had sat aghast, casting Edward deprecating looks at the close
of each ponderous sentence, but too polite to interrupt a soul, even a
son talking nonsense.
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