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began to occur to me that perhaps Dora's mind was already formed. On further consideration this appeared so likely, that I abandoned my scheme, which had had a more promising appearance in words than in action; resolving henceforth to be satisfied with my child-wife, and to try to change her into nothing else by any process. I was heartily tired of being sagacious and prudent by myself, and of seeing my darling under restraint; so I bought a pretty pair of ear-rings for her, and a collar for Jip, and went home one day to make myself agreeable. Dora was delighted with the little presents, and kissed me joyfully; but there was a shadow between us, however slight, and I had made up my mind that it should not be there. If there must be such a shadow anywhere, I would keep it for the future in my own breast. I sat down by my wife on the sofa, and put the ear-rings in her ears; and then I told her that I feared we had not been quite as good company lately, as we used to be, and that the fault was mine. Which I sincerely felt, and which indeed it was. 'The truth is, Dora, my life,' I said; 'I have been trying to be wise.' 'And to make me wise too,' said Dora, timidly. 'Haven't you, Doady?' I nodded assent to the pretty inquiry of the raised eyebrows, and kissed the parted lips. 'It's of not a bit of use,' said Dora, shaking her head, until the ear-rings rang again. 'You know what a little thing I am, and what I wanted you to call me from the first. If you can't do so, I am afraid you'll never like me. Are you sure you don't think, sometimes, it would have been better to have -' 'Done what, my dear?' For she made no effort to proceed. 'Nothing!' said Dora. 'Nothing?' I repeated. She put her arms round my neck, and laughed, and called herself by her favourite name of a goose, and hid her face on my shoulder in |