So queer of the old
person."
"No necessity for you to write, my dear," observed the professor at this
point. "I've been intending to do it myself for some time, and I'll
thank her for her hospitality, and so forth."
Cornelia nodded, yawned, and then allowed her eyes to wander around the
room.
"How nice and cozy and home-like every thing does look! And so small.
Why, I should almost believe I was looking through the small end of the
telescope, or something."
"New York houses are so big, I suppose?" said Sophie.
"Gracious, dear!" exclaimed Cornelia, laughing again. "Why, the very
cupboards are bigger than this whole house. It'll take me ever so long
to get over being afraid to knock my head against something when I stand
up."
"You can sit out-doors until the weather gets too cold," observed the
professor. "The sky is as high here as in New York, isn't it?"
Cornelia ignored this remark with admirable self-poise. "Aunt Margaret
was asking a good deal about Mr. Bressant, too," said she. "She said
she'd only heard about him from you, papa; but I thought, sometimes, she
must be fibbing. Once in a while, you know, she acted just as if she had
forgotten having said she didn't know him. However, that's absurd, of
course.
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