“Don’t, don’t think of it,” Matilda exclaimed; “don’t work yourself up in that way, Leila.”
“But it does me good, Matilda, to think of it, and beside it was such a day of happiness also,”—and she looked fondly at Selina.
“Yes, yes, I know what you mean,” Matilda said, hastily; “and I am sure it was a day of happiness to me too; but we won’t think any more about it now, for I do tire a little if you speak too much about goodness; but what with you being so good, and Selina being so good, I surely shall get better in time; indeed, I am a little better already, I assure you I am—I am almost always sorry now when I do wrong.”
Selina looked up and smiled. “Yes, indeed, you are better, Matilda. I think there has been a great improvement in you since Leila came to stay with us, and now I hope that you will not take to Lydia Mildmay again so much, or allow her to have such influence over you as she used to have,—she did you no good.”
“Why do you always say that?” Matilda exclaimed, colouring violently; “I do wish, Selina, you would just tell me at once why you don’t like Lydia. I am sure it is very ungrateful in you, and I think that you need not be so sorry that she should praise me sometimes, she praises you also a great deal.”
“Yes,” Selina answered, “she does; but I don’t like her praise, and I would rather she did not.”
“And why do you not like her praise?”
“Because I cannot help thinking it is not sincere.”
“Now, Selina, that is too bad in you. Mamma often says, ‘Give me a proof of it, Matilda;’ so I say to you, give me a proof of it, Selina.”
“No, I cannot give you a proof of it now; some other time we will talk of it again. I wish to go to mamma now—I dare say I can help her to arrange something—you know there must be a great deal to arrange on our first coming home.”