“I wanted to tell you first. And your mother and Fanny.”
“Yes;” I replied softly.
That seemed taking the matter too tamely. I ran to her and clasped my arms around her neck, making an extravagant speech between my kisses.
Then we branched into relative topics, side issues that presented themselves in a chance fashion. How wide her range of sight was! Some way we touched upon position and station.
“That is part of the knowledge;” she said in her bright, sweet way. “I have learned a lesson that I mean to put in practice if God does give me the opportunity. It is—holding up, and not pushing down.”
I understood her inconsequent little speech.
“Rich people can do so many pleasant things. Their position keeps them quite free. They are not misunderstood, at least no one can accuse them of unworthy motives. It seems to me that they might sometimes hold out their hands to the next best. It would not hurt them. I don’t want ever to forget this.”
I knew she would not.
“It has been hard;” I said softly, thinking of the past.
“Why was I not as good and refined and lady-like? What difference was it whether I worked for the mothers of children one way or another, teaching them, or sewing for them? I was not likely to crowd in without an invitation. And how much better shall I be as mistress of Mr. Fairlie’s house than I am now?”