THE VERDICT
The first thing I noticed when I entered the large room where Messrs
Macalister & Co. carried on their business, was a young man, tall and
very well set up, who stood with his back to us. He was talking
earnestly to one of Macalister's clerks, and there was something about
his figure which caused me to look at him attentively. His hair was of
a light shade of brown, and was closely cropped to his well-shaped
head, and his shoulders were very broad and square. He was dressed
well, and had altogether that man-of-the-world, well bred sort of
look, which is impossible to acquire by any amount of outward veneer.
The man who stood with his back to us, and did not even glance round
as we came into the agent's office, was beyond doubt a gentleman. I
felt curiously anxious to see his face, for I was certain it must be a
pleasant one, but in this particular fate did not favour me. I heard
him say to the clerk in a hurried tone--
"I will come back again presently," and then he disappeared by another
door, and I heard him walking rapidly away. Mother had doubtless not
noticed the man at all. She was seated near a table, and when the
clerk in question came up to her, seemed indisposed to speak. I gave
her a silent nudge.
"We want--ahem," said my mother--she cleared her throat, "we are
anxious to look at some houses."
"Fourteen to fifteen bedrooms in each," I interrupted.
"Fourteen to fifteen bedrooms," repeated mother. "How many sitting
rooms, Westenra?"
"Four, five, or six," was my answer.
"Oh, you require a mansion," said the agent. "Where do you propose to
look for your house, madam?"
He addressed mother with great respect. Mother again glanced at me.
"We thought somewhere north," she said; "or north-west," she added.
"W.C.," I interrupted; "Bloomsbury, we wish to settle in Bloomsbury."
"Perhaps, Westenra," said my mother, "you had better describe the
house. My daughter takes a great interest in houses," she added in an
apologetic tone to the clerk. The face of the clerk presented a blank
appearance, he showed neither elation nor the reverse at having a
young lady to deal with instead of an old lady. He began to trot out
his different houses, to explain their advantages, their aristocratic
positions.
"Aristocratic houses in Bloomsbury--aristocratic!" said mother, and
there was a tone of almost scorn in her voice.
"I assure you it is the case, madam. Russell Square is becoming quite
the fashion again, and so is"--he paused--"Would Tavistock Square suit
you?" he said, glancing at me.
"I do not know," I answered. "I seem to be better acquainted with the
names of Russell Square or Bloomsbury Square. After all, if we can get
a large enough house it does not greatly matter, provided it is in
Bloomsbury. We wish to see several houses, for we cannot decide
without a large choice."
"You would not be induced, ladies, to think of a flat?" queried the
agent.
Mother glanced at me; there was almost an appeal in her eyes. If I
could only be induced to allow her to live in a tiny, tiny flat--she
and I alone on our one hundred and fifty a year--but my eyes were
bright with determination, and I said firmly--
"We wish to look at houses, we do not want a flat."
Accordingly, after a little more argument, we were supplied with
orders to view, and returning to the carriage I gave brief directions
to Jenkins.
During the rest of the morning we had a busy time. We went from one
house to another. Most were large; some had handsome halls and wide
staircases, and double doors, and other relics of past grandeur, but
all were gloomy and dirty, and mother became more and more depressed,
and more and more hopeless, as she entered each one in turn.
"Really, Westenra," she said, "we cannot do it. No, my darling, it is
hopeless. Think of the staff of servants we should require. Do look at
these stairs, it is quite worth counting them. My dear child, such a
life would kill me."
But I was young and buoyant, and did not feel the stairs, and my
dreams seemed to become more rosy as obstacles appeared in view. I was
determined to conquer, I had made up my mind to succeed.
"Whatever happens you shall not have a tiring time," I said
affectionately to my dear mother, and then I asked one of the
caretakers to give her a chair, and she sat in the great wide desolate
drawing-room while I ran up and down stairs, and peeped into
cupboards, and looked all over the house, and calculated, as fast as
my ignorant brain would allow me, the amount of furniture which would
be necessary to start the mansion I had in view.
For one reason or another most of the houses on the agent's list were
absolutely impossible for our purpose, but at last we came to one
which seemed to be the exact thing we required. It was a corner house
in a square called Graham Square, and was not so old by fifty years as
the houses surrounding it. In height also it was a storey lower, but
being a corner house it had a double frontage, and was in consequence
very large and roomy. There were quite six or seven sitting rooms, and
I think there were up to twenty bedrooms in the house, and it had a
most cheerful aspect, with balconies round the drawing-room windows,
and balconies to the windows of the bedrooms on the first floor. I
made up my mind on the spot that the inmates of these special rooms
should pay extra for the privilege of such delightful balconies. And
the windows of the house were large, and when it was all re-papered
and re-painted according to my modern ideas, I knew that we could
secure a great deal of light in the rooms; and then besides, one whole
side faced south-east, and would scarcely ever be cold in winter,
whereas in summer it would be possible to render it cool by sun-blinds
and other contrivances. Yes, the house would do exactly.
I ran downstairs to mother, who had by this time given up climbing
those many, many stairs, and told her that I had found the exact house
for our purpose.
"Seventeen Graham Square is magnificent," I said. "My dearest, darling
mother, in ten years time we shall be rich women if we can only secure
this splendid house for our purpose."
"We do not even know the rent," said mother.
"Oh, the rent," I cried. "I forgot about that. I will look on the
order to view."
I held it in my hand and glanced at it. Just for a moment my heart
stood still, for the corner house commanded a rental of two hundred
and eighty pounds a year. Not at all dear for so big a mansion, but
with rates and taxes and all the other etceteras it certainly was a
serious item for us to meet, and would be considered even by the most
sanguine people as a most risky speculation.
"Never mind, never mind," I cried eagerly, "we will secure this house;
I do not think we need look at any of the others."
I crumpled up the remaining orders. Mother stepped into the carriage,
and Jenkins took us back to the agent's.
"You must speak this time, Westenra," said mother. "Remember it is
your scheme, darling; I am not at all accustomed to this sort of
business; it will be necessary for you to take the initiative."
"Very well, mother, I will; and suppose you stay in the carriage." I
uttered these last words in a coaxing tone, for the tired look on her
face almost frightened me, and I did not want her to take any of the
worry of what I already called to myself "Westenra's grand scheme."
I entered the office, and the man who had attended to us in the
morning came forward. I told him briefly that of the many houses which
we had looked over, the only one which would suit our purpose was No.
17 Graham Square.
"Ah," he answered, "quite the handsomest house on our list. Do you
want it for your own occupation, Miss--Miss----"
"Wickham," I said. "Yes, of course we want the house for
ourselves--that is, mother would like to rent it."
"It is a high rent," said the man, "not of course high for such a fine
mansion, but higher than the rest of the houses in the Square. It
contains a great many rooms." He glanced at me as though he meant to
say something impertinent, but, reading an expression of determination
on my face, he refrained.
"How soon can we take possession of the house?" I asked. "It would of
course be papered and painted for us?"
"If you take a lease, not otherwise," answered Macalister's clerk.
"I think we would take a lease," I replied. "What is the usual
length?"
"Seven, fourteen, twenty-one years," he answered glibly; "but I do not
think the landlords round here would grant a longer lease than
fourteen years."
"Oh, that would be quite long enough," I answered emphatically. "We
should like to arrange the matter as soon as possible, we are greatly
pleased with the house. Of course the drains must be carefully tested,
and the entire place would have to be re-decorated from cellar to
attic."
"For a fourteen years' lease I doubt not this would be done," said the
man, "but of course there are several matters to be gone into. You
want the house for a private residence, do you not?"
"Yes, and no," I said faintly. There was a room just beyond where I
was seated, and at that moment I heard a book fall heavily to the
ground. It startled me. Was any one in there listening to what we were
saying?
The clerk stepped forward and quietly closed the door.
"To be frank with you," I said, "we wish to secure 17 Graham Square in
order to start a boarding-house there."
The man immediately laid down the large book in which he had been
taking my orders.
"That will never do," he said. "We cannot allow business of any sort
to be carried on in the house, it would destroy all the rest of the
property. It is far too aristocratic for anything of the kind."
"But our house would be practically private," I said; "I mean," I
continued, stammering and blushing, and feeling ready to sink through
the floor, "that our guests would be extremely nice and well-behaved
people."
"Oh, I have no doubt whatever of that," replied the clerk, "but there
is a condition in every lease in that special Square, that money is
not to be earned on the premises. I presume your guests would not
come to you for nothing?"
"Certainly not," I replied. I felt myself turning cold and stiff. All
the angry blood of my noble ancestors stirred in my veins. I said a
few more words and left the shop.
"Well?" asked mother. She was looking dreary and terribly huddled up
in the carriage. It was a warm day, but I think going through those
empty houses had chilled her. "Well, Westenra, have you taken No. 17?"
"Alas! no," I answered in some heat; "would you believe it, mother,
the agent says the landlord will not let us the house if we make money
in it."
"If we make money in it? I do not understand," answered mother. Her
blue eyes were fixed on my face in an anxious way.
"Why, mother, darling, don't you know we meant to fill the house with
paying guests."
"Oh, I forgot," said mother. "Home, Jenkins, as fast as possible."
Jenkins whipped up the horses, and we trotted home. Mother looked
distinctly relieved.
"So you have not taken the house?" she said.
"I cannot get it," I answered. "It is more than provoking. What are we
to do? I had taken such a fancy to the place."
"It did seem, for that benighted place, fairly cheerful," said my
mother, "but, Westenra, there is a Providence guiding our paths.
Doubtless Providence does not intend you to wreck your young life
attending to lodgers."
"But, mother dear, don't you understand that we must do something for
our living? It is disappointing, but we shall get over it somehow."
During the rest of that day mother refused even to discuss the
boarding-house scheme. She seemed to think that because we could not
get 17 Graham Square, there was no other house available for our
purpose.
The next day I went out without mother. I did not visit the same
agent. After finding myself in Bloomsbury I repaired to a post-office,
and, taking down the big Directory, secured the names of several
agents in the neighbourhood. These I visited in turn. I had dressed
myself very plainly; I had travelled to my destination by 'bus. I
thought that I looked exactly what I felt--a very business-like young
woman. Already the gulf was widening between my old and my new life.
Already I was enjoying my freedom.
Once more I was supplied with a list of houses, and once again I
trotted round to see them. Alack and alas! how ugly empty houses did
look; how dilapidated and dirty were the walls without the pictures
and bookcases! How dreary were those countless flights of stairs,
those long narrow windows, those hopelessly narrow halls; and then,
the neighbourhood of these so-called mansions was so sordid. Could we
by any possible means brighten such dwellings? Could we make them fit
to live in? I visited them all, and finally selected three of these.
Two had a clause forbidding the letting out of apartments, but the
third and least desirable of the houses was to be the absolute
property of the tenant to do what he liked with.
"That mansion," said the obliging agent, "you can sublet to your
heart's content, madam. It is a very fine house, only one hundred and
eighty pounds a year. There are ten bedrooms and five sitting-rooms.
You had better close with it at once."
But this I could not do. The outlook from this house was so hideous;
the only way to it was through an ugly, not to say hideous,
thoroughfare. I thought of my delicate, aristocratic mother here. I
thought of the friends whom I used to know visiting us in 14 Cleveland
Street, and felt my castle in the clouds tumbling about my ears. What
was to be done!
"I cannot decide to-day," I said; "I will let you know."
"You will lose it, madam," said the agent.
"Nevertheless, I cannot decide so soon; I must consult my mother."
"Very well, madam," said the man, in a tone of disappointment.
I left his office and returned home.
For the next few days I scarcely spoke at all about my project. I was
struggling to make up my mind to the life which lay before us if we
took 14 Cleveland Street. The street itself was somewhat narrow; the
opposite houses seemed to bow at their neighbours; the rooms, although
many, were comparatively small; and last, but by no means least, the
landlord would do very little in the way of decoration.
"We can let houses of this kind over and over again," said the agent,
"I don't say that Mr. Mason won't have the ceilings whitened for you,
but as to papering, no; the house don't require it. It was done up for
the last tenant four years ago."
"And why has the last tenant left?" I asked.
"Owing to insolvency, madam," was the quick reply, and the man darted
a keen glance into my face.
Insolvency! I knew what that meant. It was another word for ruin, for
bankruptcy. In all probability, if we took that detestable house, we
also would have to leave on account of insolvency, for what nice,
cheerful, paying guests would care to live with us there? I shook my
head. Surely there must be somewhere other houses to let.
During the next few days I spent all my time searching for houses. I
got quite independent, and, I think, a little roughened. I was more
brusque than usual in my manners. I became quite an adept at jumping
in and out of omnibuses. I could get off omnibuses quite neatly when
they were going at a fairly good pace, and the conductors, I am sure,
blessed me in their hearts for my agile movements. Then the agents all
round Bloomsbury began to know me. Finally, one of them said, on the
event of my fourth visit--
"Had you not better try further afield, Miss? There are larger,
brighter, and newer houses in the neighbourhood of Highbury, for
instance."
"No," I said, "we must live in Bloomsbury." Then I noticed that the
man examined me all over in quite a disagreeable fashion, and then he
said slowly--
"14 Cleveland Street is still to be had, Miss, but of course you
understand that the landlord will want the usual references."
"References!" I cried. "He shall certainly have them if he requires
them." And then I wondered vaguely, with a queer sinking at my heart,
to whom of all our grand friends I might apply who would vouch for us
that we would not run away without paying the rent. Altogether, I felt
most uncomfortable.
The days passed. No more likely houses appeared on the horizon, and at
last the afternoon came when our friends were to visit us, when I,
Westenra, was to break to these fashionable society people my wild
project. But I had passed through a good deal of the hardening process
lately, and was not at all alarmed when the important day dawned. This
was to be our very last entertainment. After that we would step down.
Mother, exquisitely dressed in dove-coloured satin, waited for her
guests in the drawing-room. I was in white. I had given up wearing
white when I was going about in omnibuses, but I had several charming
costumes for afternoon and evening wear still quite fresh, and I
donned my prettiest dress now, and looked at my face in the glass with
a certain amount of solicitude. I saw before me a very tall, slender
girl; my eyes were grey. I had a creamy, pale complexion, and
indifferently good features. There were some people who thought me
pretty, but I never did think anything of my looks myself. I gave my
own image a careless nod now, and ran briskly downstairs.
"You'll be very careful what you say to our guests, Westenra?" queried
mother. "This whole scheme of yours is by no means to my liking. I
feel certain that the dear Duchess and Lady Thesiger will feel that
they have been brought here unfairly. It would have been far franker
and better to tell them that something singularly unpleasant was about
to occur."
"But, dearest mother, why should it be unpleasant? and it is the
fashion of the day to have sensation at any cost. Our guests will
always look back on this afternoon as a sort of red letter day. Just
think for yourself how startled and how interested they will be.
Whether they approve, or whether they disapprove, it will be immensely
interesting and out of the common, mother. O mother! think of it!" I
gripped her hand tightly, and she said--
"Don't squeeze me so hard, Westenra, I shall need all my pluck."
Well, the hour came and also the guests. They arrived in goodly
numbers. There was the usual fashionable array of carriages outside
our door. There were footmen in livery and coachmen, and stately and
magnificently groomed horses, and the guests poured up the stairs and
entered our drawing rooms, and the chatter-chatter and hum-hum of
ordinary society conversation began. Everything went as smoothly as it
always did, and all the time my mother chatted with that courtly grace
which made her look quite in the same state of life as the Duchess of
Wilmot. In fact the only person in the room who looked at all nervous
was the said Duchess. She had a way of glancing from me to mother, as
if she was not quite sure of either of us, and once as I passed her,
she stretched out her hand and touched me on my sleeve.
"Eh, Westenra?" she said.
"Yes, your Grace," I replied.
"All that silliness, darling, that you talked to me the other day, is
quite knocked on the head, is it not? Oh, I am so relieved."
"You must wait and find out," was my reply. "I have something to say
to every one soon, and oh please, try not to be too shocked with me."
"You are an incorrigible girl," she replied, but she shook her head
quite gaily at me. She evidently had not the slightest idea of what I
was going to do.
As to my special friend Jasmine Thesiger, she was as usual surrounded
by an admiring group of men and women, and gave me no particular
thought. I looked from one to the other of all our guests: I did not
think any more were likely to come. All those who had been specially
invited had arrived. My moment had come. Just then, however, just
before I rose from my seat to advance into the middle of the room, I
noticed coming up the stairs a tall, broad-shouldered man. He was
accompanied by a friend of ours, a Mr. Walters, a well-known artist. I
had never seen this man before, and yet I fancied, in a sort of
intangible way, that his figure was familiar. I just glanced at him
for a moment, and I do not believe he came into the room. He stood a
little behind Mr. Walters, who remained in the doorway. My hour had
come. I glanced at mother. Poor darling, she turned very white. I
think she was almost terrified, but as to myself I felt quite
cheerful, and not in the least alarmed.
"I want to say something to all my dear friends," I began. I had a
clear voice, and it rose above the babel. There came sudden and
profound silence.
I saw a lady nudge her neighbour.
"I did not know," I heard her say, "that Westenra recited," and then
she settled herself in a comfortable attitude to listen.
I stood in the middle of the floor, and faced everybody.
"I have something to say," I began, "and it is not a recitation. I
have asked you all to come here to-day to listen to me." I paused and
looked round. How nice our guests looked, how kind, how beautifully
dressed! What good form the men were in, and how aristocratic were the
women. How different these men and women were from the people I had
associated with during the week--the people who took care of the
houses in Bloomsbury, the agents who let the houses, the people whom I
had met in the busses going to and from the houses. These nice,
pleasant, well-bred people belonged to me, they were part and parcel
of my own set; I was at home with them.
I just caught the Duchess's eye for a moment, and I think there was
alarm in those brown depths, but she was too essentially a woman of
the world to show anything. She just folded her jewelled hands in her
lap, leant back in her chair, and prepared to listen. One or two of
the men, I think, raised their eye-glasses to give me a more critical
glance, but soon even that mark of special attention subsided. Of
course it was a recitation. People were beginning to be tired of
recitations.
"I want to say something, and I will say it as briefly as possible," I
commenced. "Mother does not approve of it, but she will do it, because
she has yielded to me as a dear, good, _modern_ mother ought."
Here there was a little laugh, and some of the tension was lessened.
"I want to tell you all," I continued, "for most of you have been our
friends since I was a child, that mother and I are--poor. There is
nothing disgraceful in being poor, is there? but at the same time it
is unpleasant, unfortunate. We were fairly well off. Now, through no
fault of our own, we have lost our money."
The visitors looked intensely puzzled, and also uncomfortable, but now
I raised my eyes a little above them. It was necessary that if I went
on putting them to the test, I should not look them full in the face.
"We are poor," I continued, "therefore we cannot live any longer in
this house. From having a fair competence, not what many of you would
consider riches, but from having a fair competence, we have come down
to practically nothing. We could live, it is true, in the depths of
the country, on the very little which has been saved out of the wreck,
but I for one do not wish to do that. I dislike what is called decent
poverty, I dislike the narrow life, the stultifying life, the mean
life. I am my father's daughter. You have heard of my father, that is
his picture"--I pointed as I spoke to an oil painting on the wall.
"You know that he was a man of action, I also will act." I hurried my
voice a trifle here--"So mother and I mean not to accept what many
people would consider the inevitable; but we mean, to use a vulgar
phrase, to better ourselves."
Now it is certain, our guests were a little surprised. They began to
fidget, and one or two men came nearer, and I thought, though I am not
sure, that I saw the tall man, with the head of closely cropped hair,
push forward to look at me. But I never looked any one full in the
eyes; I fixed mine on father's picture. I seemed to hear father's
voice saying to me--
"Go on, Westenra, that was very good, you and I are people of action,
remember."
So I went on and I explained my scheme. I told it very briefly. Mother
and I would in future earn our own living.
I was educated fairly well, but I had no special gifts, so I would not
enter the Arena where teachers struggled and fought and bled, and
many of them fell by the wayside. Nor would I enter the Arena of Art,
because in no sense of the word was I an artist, nor would I go on the
Stage, for my talent did not lie in that direction, but I had certain
talents, and they were of a practical sort. I could keep accounts
admirably; I could, I believed, manage a house. Then I skilfully
sketched in that wonderful boarding-house of my dreams, that house in
dull Bloomsbury, which by my skill and endeavour would be bright and
render an acceptable home for many. Finally, I said that my mother and
I had made up our minds to leave the fashionable part of London and to
retire to Bloomsbury.
"We will take our house from September," I said, "and advertise very
soon for paying guests, and we hope the thing will do well, and that
in ten or twelve years we shall have made enough money to keep
ourselves for the future in comfort. Now," I continued, "I appeal to
no one to help us. We do not intend to borrow money from anybody, and
the only reason I am speaking to you to-day is because I wish, and I
am sure mother agrees with me, to be quite frank with you. Mother and
I know quite well that we are doing an absolutely unconventional
thing, and that very likely you, as our friends of the past, will
resent it. Those of you who do not feel that you can associate with
two ladies who keep a boarding-house, need not say so in so many
words, but you can give us to understand, by means known best to
yourselves, whether you will know us in the future. If you want to cut
us we shall consider it quite right, quite reasonable, quite fair.
Then those who do intend to stick to us, even through this great
change in our lives, may be the greatest possible help by recommending
us and our boarding-house to their friends, that is, if any of you
present have friends who would live in Bloomsbury.
"Mother and I thought it quite fair that you should know, and we
thought it best that I should tell you quite simply. We are neither of
us ashamed, and mother approves, or at least she will approve
presently, of what I have done."
There was a dead silence when I ceased speaking, followed by a slight
rustling amongst the ladies. The men looked one and all intensely
uncomfortable, and the tall man who had come in with Mr Walters, the
artist, disappeared altogether.
I had not been nervous while I was speaking, but I felt nervous now. I
knew that I was being weighed in the balance, that I and my scheme
were being held up before the mental eyes of these people with the
keenest, most scathing criticism. Would one in all that crowd
understand me? I doubted it. Perhaps in my first sensation of sinking
and almost despair something of my feeling stole into my face, for
suddenly Jasmine sprang to her feet and said in an excited, tremulous
voice--
"I for one say that Westenra is a very plucky girl. I wish her God
speed, and I hope her scheme will succeed."
This was very nice indeed of Jasmine, but I do not know that it
relieved the situation much, for still the others were silent, and
then one lady got up and went over to mother and took her hand and
said--
"I am very sorry for you, dear Mrs. Wickham, very sorry indeed. I fear
I must say good-bye now; I am very sorry. Good-bye, dear Mrs.
Wickham."
And this lady's example was followed by most of the other ladies,
until at last there was no one left in the room but the Duchess of
Wilmot and Lady Thesiger and ourselves. Lady Thesiger's cheeks were
brightly flushed.
"My dear Westenra," she said, "you are one of the most eccentric
creatures in creation. Of course from first to last you are as wrong
as you can be. You know nothing about keeping a boarding-house, and
you are bound to fail. I could not say so before all those ridiculous
people, who would not have understood, but I say so now to you. My
dear girl, your speech was so much Greek to them. You spoke over their
heads or under their feet, just as you please to put it, but
comprehend you they did not. You will be the talk of the hour, and
they will mention you as a girl whom they used to know, but who has
gone a little mad, and then you will be forgotten. You would have
done fifty times better by keeping this thing to yourself."
"That is precisely what I think," said the Duchess. "My dear Mary,"
she added, turning to my mother, "what is the matter with your child?
Is she quite _right_?" The Duchess gave an expressive nod, and I saw
mother's face turn pale.
"Oh, do listen to me for a moment," interrupted pretty Lady Thesiger,
"what I say is this. Westenra is on the wrong tack. If she wishes to
earn money, why must she earn it in this preposterous, impossible
manner? It would be fifty times better for her to go as a teacher or a
secretary, but to keep a boarding-house! You see for yourself, dear
Mrs. Wickham, that it is impossible. As long as we live in society we
must adhere to its rules, and for West calmly to believe that people
of position in London will know her and respect her when she is a
boarding-house keeper, is to expect a miracle. Now, I for one will not
cut you, Westenra."
"Nor will I cut you, Westenra," said the Duchess, and she gave a
profound sigh and folded her hands in her lap.
"Two of your friends will not cut you, but I really think all the
others will," said Lady Thesiger. "Then I suppose you expect me to
recommend nice Americans to come and stay with you, but it is my
opinion that, with your no knowledge at all of this sort of thing, you
will keep a very so-so, harum-scarum sort of house. How can I
recommend my nice American friends to be made thoroughly uncomfortable
by you? Oh, I am _very_ sorry for you."
Lady Thesiger got up as she spoke; she kissed me, squeezed my hand,
and said, "Oh child, what a goose you are!" and left the room.
The Duchess followed more slowly.
"I don't forget, my child," she said, "that I am your godmother, that
I loved your dear father, that I love your mother, that I also love
you. Do not be wilful, Westenra; give up this mad scheme. There are
surely other ways open to you in this moment of misfortune. Above all
things, try not to forget that you are your father's daughter."