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"Patricia's awfully superficial, I think," she confided to him cheerfully, as she watched her readjusting her bright hair beneath the pretty hat rim at the quaint old mirror of the bookcase. "She's so set on pretty things. She just worships anyone who is pretty—no matter whether she understands their character or not. I wish we could make her more serious-minded and careful." "Indeed you did no such thing," retorted Etwald, coolly. "My story is quite different to that of Dido." "The latter. You must know, Maurice," continued the major, "that Mrs. Dallas, though well born and well married, is an extremely ignorant woman. She was brought up mostly by Dido's grandmother, who was the most accursed old witch in Barbadoes, or out of it for the matter of that. This old hag instilled into the mind of Mrs. Dallas all kinds of superstitions in which she really believes. When the grandmother died Dido became nurse to Isabella, and private witch of the Dallas household. She is clever--wonderfully clever--and she has continued her grandmother's system of terrorizing both Mrs. Dallas and Isabella.".
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Conrad
"Y—yes," responded Patricia dubiously. "But I'll never be an artist. I sort of felt that long ago, but now I'm dead certain of it, and it seems like a sham to haul out that effort in the face of Elinor's splendid work." "You may laugh, but it's true, all the same," said Judith decisively. "And I'll prove it to you all before long—see if I don't." I know now that I really never got any older than the poor, foolish, eighteen-years child that Aunt Adeline married off "safe." But all that was a mild sort of exasperation to what a widow has to go through with in the matter of—of, well, I think worrying interference is about the best name to give it. "I, massa! Ole Dido she do nuffin. Massa Maurice he die Voodoo! Oh, yes.".
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