Sophie's Confession

"He begins to show the effects of being talked to by you, my dear.
You're a wise little woman in some ways, that's certain! and have done
him good in more ways than one," said papa, with parental complacency.

Sophie shrank at this, remembering how lately she had fed herself with
the same idea. She had learned a great deal about herself since
discovering how little of herself she knew.

"He is a--man!" said she, trying to throw into the word an expression of
its best and loftiest meaning. "I can do very little to help him."

"Hope to see him a man some day, my dear," returned the professor,
gathering his eyebrows. "Has a great many faults at present. Why, in
some respects, he's as ignorant and inexperienced as a child. Very
one-sided affair still, I fear, that soul of his!"

"One-sided, papa?"

"Yes: don't believe it would carry him very far toward heaven, as it is
now," said the old gentleman, whose severity of judgment was cultivated
in this instance as a preservative against possible disappointment. "He
needs melting in a crucible."

"What does that mean?"

"If you weren't a wise little woman, as I said, I shouldn't be talking
about my pupil's character and management with you, my dear. But I can
trust you as well as if you were forty;" and here he gave her another
little hug, which made Sophie feel like a receiver of stolen goods.
"Well, now, theorizing won't do a young fellow like that much good. He
needs something real--that he can take hold of, and that'll take hold of
him. You and I can't give it him--not more than an impetus in the right
direction, at any rate. But the only thing that can make his future
tolerably secure--make it safe to count upon him (or upon any other man,
for that matter), is for him to fall heartily and soundly in love, in
the old-fashioned way, and with a strong-hearted, worthy woman."