I had always loved
Janet--and Paul was as the apple of my eye. When the two were mere
children, and Duncan was still in comparatively humble circumstances,
living in a semi-detached villa in the suburbs of Glasgow, I kept my
brother's house for some years, he being then a widower.
I cannot say I altogether liked doing so. Having independent means of my
own, I did not require to fill such a position, and I had never got on
very well with Duncan. However, I dearly loved the children, although I
had enough to do with them, too. Janet was one of the prettiest,
merriest, laughing little creatures--with eyes the colour of the sea in
summer-time, and a complexion like a wild-rose--the sun ever shed its
light upon; but she had a most distressing way of tearing her frocks and
of never looking tidy, which Duncan seemed to think entirely my fault;
and as for Paul, he certainly was a most awful boy.
He was fair as Janet, though with a differently-shaped face; rather a
long face, with a square, determined-looking chin; and, besides being
one of the handsomest, was assuredly one of the cleverest boys I ever
knew. He had a good, sound, strong Scotch intellect, and was as sharp as
a needle, or any Yankee, into the bargain.
But he _would_ have his own way, whatever it was, and was often
mischievous as a fiend incarnate; and in his contradictory moods, would
have gone on saying black was white all day on the chance of getting
somebody to argue with him.
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