But when the summer days were over, and the return home was an actuality, it was Lisa who left regretfully. She had felt for some time that the going back must mean active decision; that womanhood’s call awaited her when she appeared in the world as a school-girl no longer; and, although Persis had always been the one most anxious to see her mother, on this occasion it was Lisa who first sought her with an eagerness which Mrs. Holmes could but note.
“Oh, mamma,” said Lisa, “I am so glad to have you a little hour to myself. I want your help, mamma. I have been thinking so hard, and I am tired.” And there was a child’s wistfulness in the tone.
This was Lisa in a new mood which her mother scarcely understood. “My darling, I imagined in that quiet, drowsy old place you would have little cause for considering any question of moment,” she made reply.
Lisa shook her head. “I never was so roused, mamma, and all because of a hateful—no—a—man,—Mr. Danforth.” And Lisa’s eyes fell before her mother’s look of inquiry.
“He despised me, and I didn’t like to be despised,” she went on, “and so I cast around to find why he did; and then I despised myself; and so, mamma, I want to study kindergartening, and I mean to teach in the free kindergarten. I have a way with little children, I find, and I should then have some purpose in life; it would have a meaning beyond that of a mere butterfly existence. Wouldn’t it?”
Mrs. Holmes regarded her daughter with a thoughtful gaze. “And so you have come to a woman’s estate,” she replied. “I did not think it would come to you so soon.” And there was a new tenderness in her voice.
“What come?”
“Your knowledge of your heart,” returned her mother, gently.
“Why? What? Oh, mamma!” And Lisa buried her head in her hands. “I hate him!” she whispered.
“No, dear. I understand. Ah, my darling, I am glad your best self is aroused. He must be a good man who could make you respond to the best within you.”